An Unfortunate Look Into Bella's Lovesick Psyche
by petitebelette
Summary: Bella is new in Forks, and she's already crushing on Edward Cullen. Edward Cullen, a misunderstood poet, is totally crushing on Bella Swan, but he has a few secrets--including a rep as a dangerous bad boy and the town pariah. AU/AH, adult themes, language
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Twilight.

**Summary/Warnings: **Bella was totally crushing on Edward Cullen. Edward Cullen was totally crushing on Bella Swan. And Jessica Stanley sucks. AU/AH. Adult language, themes, and maybe some angst later but not that much.

**Author's Note: ** I DO NOT KNOW WHERE THIS CAME FROM. I wanted to write something less serious and more light-hearted than _Soif de Sang_ (which is not on hiatus, I promise; it will be updated soon because I'm halfway done with the next chapter) when the angst got to be too much, and then yes. This happened.

Hope you guys enjoy?

* * *

I was not crushing on Edward Cullen.

I was not crushing on Edward Cullen.

I figured if I said it enough, it would come true. That's how that sort of thing worked, right? Denial and rivers in Egypt and all that.

So, I was not crushing Edward Cullen.

I was not crushing on Edward Cullen.

I was totally crushing on Edward Cullen.

Oops.

I blamed Jessica Stanley, of course. And teenage hormones. (Can't forget those.) I blamed George Bush and sea monkeys. I blamed my adorable harmless cat Peaches, who only ever was nice enough to kill mice for me and leave them on the front porch.

I blamed… ugh, I was running out of things to blame.

Okay, there had to be someone or something to blame. Because me? Poor never-been-swooning Isabella Swan? I don't crush on boys.

Or girls. I'm _not_ a lesbian. Not that there's anything _wrong_ with that, but-

Ugh. Just—stop. Give me one second to think.

Okay. Okay. This is how it started.

* * *

"Is that Emily Dickinson?"

It was lunchtime. It was lunchtime and outside the big glass windows there was too much green and too much rain. Inside the big glass windows there was too much cafeteria and buzzing gossip, not to mention too many eyes pointed at me.

Being the new girl sucked.

"Oh, uh," he stammered for a moment, and sat up a little straighter, and I swear to god the two little dots of pink on his cheeks killed me dead right on the spot.

Because, wow. That was adorable.

I smiled and picked absentmindedly at the hem of my ratty old t-shirt. And kind of wondered where I'd found the nerve to speak. The entire morning I'd spent suffering from an unfortunate case of lockjaw.

Jessica Stanley, the blonde girl over there—yeah, she's right there, sitting next to Mike "I'm-god's-gift-to-women" Newton, somewhere over my right shoulder—she'd taken me under her all-too-caring wing that morning, rambling a mile a minute about the ins and outs and sluts and jocks and freaks and geeks of Forks High School.

I wasn't exactly sure why I had to know or why Jessica thought I did, but I let her. I'm sort of a pushover.

I was also walking to the vending machine to get her a diet coke and water for myself when I saw him.

Yes, _him_. Edward freaking Cullen in all his slouchy loner self, leaning over some weathered copy of The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson like a dying man eats his last meal. Kind of reverently and kind of desperately.

Kind of breathtakingly.

"Yes, it is," he explained, in this soft sexy beautiful velvety please have me voice. "Do you like her?" He turned a little towards me, one side of his collar wrinkled and jaggedly reaching for the ceiling, and his emerald eyes sort of amused in this attractive way.

"Uhm." I let out a short self-conscious laugh. "Yeah, I- uhm, I'm thirsty."

I spun on my feet and touched my warm cheeks with chilly hands to cool them.

_What the fuck was wrong with me?_

Shaking for absolutely no reason, I ripped out the dollar bill Jessica had given me from my pocket, and then cringed as a mess of change clattered all over the floor.

I was… an idiot.

"Do you need help?"

Edward was suddenly on his knees in front me—har, har—and collecting quarters and nickels and dimes and a few stray pennies.

I dropped down beside him and nearly shouted, "No, it's fi-!"

But of course, because I was an idiot, my forehead banged loudly against his and… ow.

Ow, ow, ow. And more undignified owing.

"Ow," he winced, holding his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I. Am. So. Sorry," I hissed. My face felt like a volcano had just exploded on it.

And then he opened up his watery eyes, smiled ruefully and said, "You have a very hard head."

"Thanks?"

"Are you okay?" He rose gracefully to his feet single-handedly and then offered that warm palm and long fingers to me.

I stared. It was very painfully I'll-never-live-this-moment-down awkward. "Peachy," I finally managed, and took his hand.

He tugged and I acquiesced, and his hand was nearly twice as large as mine. And it was warm and smooth and one corner of his lips turned up, indenting the day-old stubble on his cheeks.

Oh my.

"Edward Cullen," he introduced himself.

"Bella Swan," I gulped.

"New?"

"Yeah. Old?"

He chuckled, emerald dancing down to our still-clasped hands. "I've been here awhile."

His thumb skimmed across my knuckles and I went wide-eyed and yes, if I had one, bushy-tailed. Because I was pretty sure the moment Edward Cullen smiled crookedly at me from beneath lowered lashes and touched me as if it was the most casual thing in the world and not sort of creepy since we didn't know each other was the moment I officially started crushing on Edward Cullen.

"Dickinson?" I slurred out.

"Uh, yeah," he looked down at his feet self-consciously and released me, stuffing his hands awkwardly in his pockets. "She's ah… she's sort of my favorite. Do you want to…?" He trailed off and inclined his head to the table, bursting into a hesitant grin. "You want to sit with me?"

Jessica Stanley took that exact perfect moment to bounce next to me with a cheery smile. I wanted to punch her in the face. "Bella, gosh. How long does it take to get a coke?"

Edward took that exact moment to frown and sit down as if we hadn't exchanged words and a forehead bump and quite possibly the emerging moment of my sexual libido.

And then Jessica did something that _really_ made me want to punch her in the face. She sneered unbecomingly at the back of Edward's head, grabbed my arm, and tugged me back in the direction of hell. (Or as other people call him, Mike Newton.)

"Oh my _god_, Bella, you have no idea how much you owe me for that right there," she declared loudly.

Annoyed, pissed off, frustrated, and other words that also mean angry, I looked back to Edward, whose jaw was clenched tight and whose eyes were staring straight at his favorite poems, but with none of the admiration as before.

"What's wrong with Edward Cullen?" I asked hotly and yanked my wrist away from her death grip.

"He's an _orphan_ and he's _trouble_," she announced snidely, and I hovered over the table as she plopped into her seat next to Mike, her nose in the air.

"He reads Emily Dickinson!"

Surely, how could any who reads Emily Dickinson be trouble. It wasn't even a question; I refuse to use a question mark. And an orphan? So?

"Ew, Cullen," Mike scowled.

"See?" Jessica chimed in.

"What the hell is wrong with Edward Cullen?" I demanded, forcing the words through my teeth.

"He's. A. _Criminal_," Jessica annunciated, and then she leaned over with a hushed voice and excited eyes. "He's always been so weird, right Mike?" She went on, not even glancing to him. "Always sticking to himself and thinking he's better than everyone. And then just one day, in sophomore year, he must have _snapped_. The principal found a _gun_ in his backpack. Apparently he said he wasn't going to hurt anyone, but I seriously think he was, because he's such a _weirdo_. Anyway, he was sent home for a year and now he's back and seriously Bella, _stay away from him_."

"He's a fucking freak." Mike nodded and pulled out the chair next to him. "Come on, Bella, sit next to me."

I did the only thing I could do.

I turned on my heel, ignoring Jessica's "hey, where are you going?", headed straight for the bathroom, locked myself in a stall and banged my head repeatedly onto the linoleum wall.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I'm glad you guys like this. :) Here's the next chapter. This fic is so much faster to write for obvious reasons. It takes no thought. :P

* * *

I sat in that bathroom stall until the lunch bell rang and I had to leave it, mulling over my options:

1.) Be a good girl, stay away from Edward Cullen and try to fantasize about him as little as possible.

2.) Break my police chief father's heart, seduce Edward Cullen, elope and have his gun-toting babies.

3.) Stop being so damn ridiculous and go to class.

I settled on three.

As luck would have it, since I was new and uncoordinated, I ended up being horribly inexcusably late to Biology class that day. I stumbled into the room clutching my bag and shooting a grimace/apologetic smile at the teacher and hustling myself to—oh.

The only empty seat was at the lab table in which Edward was sitting at.

And he was also looking very intently at my shoes.

Well. Okay. It would make sense. No one would want to sit with him, right? Because, like Jessica said, he was a freak. It would explain why nobody sat with him at lunch, either.

And it would totally explain why he was so eager to sit with _me_. New fresh Bella, who had _no_ idea about the dangerous no-good Edward Cullen.

Pressing my lips together, I walked forward, steeled myself, and plopped onto the stool. It teetered, but didn't fall, which was kind of a miracle.

"Ah, Miss Swan," the teacher said. "I'm Mr. Banner. Try not to be late again, will you?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded and smiled and before I could lose my nerves, I sent that smile right over to my new lab partner.

Who was now intently looking at the desk.

Dammit.

What was a subtle way of saying, _Hey, Edward… I know you're like, supposedly a dangerous freak or something but I have my doubts because you read Emily Dickinson and you don't seem like the violent type. Is that stupid? And do you want to maybe hang out or get to know each other or something?_

That _was_ stupid. Sighing, I flipped through my textbook as Banner droned on about mitosis and I began doodling little cells across my blank paper, trying to pretend like I wasn't noticing every small inconsequential move he made or letting myself think paranoid thoughts like _Is he staring at me? It feels like he's staring at me_.

But I couldn't shake the feeling, and it was making me flush with embarrassment and anxiousness. So when I snapped my gaze to his, fully intending to be greeted with a nonchalant and indifferent Edward staring to the front of the room, I was quite surprised to find myself sorely mistaken.

He _was_ staring at me.

And kind of intensely, which was equal parts weird and alluring.

My cheeks flamed. "Hi," I mouthed.

He blinked, expression going blank. Then he looked away, eyes hardening and lips pursing in anger as if I had just insulted his mother or something.

Well, _okay_.

Asshole.

I ignored the rejection stinging my eyes and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth to suppress its light trembling.

Was it possible that Jessica was right and he was certifiably insane? So, he read poetry. Really really beautiful soul-searching poetry about bees and nature. That didn't mean I knew his character or anything.

But then I remembered his hesitant half-eager smile and I realized I was right.

Because I _didn't_ know Edward Cullen or his character, and I couldn't make a judgment either way.

I let out a long cleansing sigh and went back to my portraits of cells, holding onto the pen tighter than was necessary.

Cell wall, nucleus, DNA, RNA, mitochondria, note from Edward.

The paper hit my thumb and slid down onto my notebook. Startled, I looked over to him, but his nose was back in his book, his eyes skimming the words.

After a moment of unabashed ogling, his lips curled up into a smile and his foot knocked into mine, swinging between our stools.

I jumped and turned my attention on the scrap of paper, his elegant scrawl greeting my eye.

_I'm sorry. That was rude. Hi._

Maybe I was the insane one because I was scribbling back.

_Do you always react that way when someone says hi?_ I waited until Mr. Banner had his back turned and pushed the note to him.

A few moments later the paper nudged my elbow._ I was surprised you were talking to me._

_Why would you be surprised?_

It took him awhile to answer; I didn't heard the sliding of his pen over the paper until Mr. Banner had moved onto meiosis, smiling with such zeal someone would think he was talking about something entertaining. Like… anything else besides meiosis.

This time I felt a soft tap on my thigh, and looked down, taking the note from him with an unsure hand. I read it in my lap.

_I thought Jessica told you._

I exhaled, and brought my pen down, carefully writing against my worn jeans. _She did. _I sent it back.

I couldn't help it; I watched his reaction, rapt with attention, his long careful fingers holding my words over a page in his book. His brows furrowed; something dark and confused phased across his features.

And then his other hand reached up to rub absentmindedly at the careless scuff on his jaw and his jade eyes lifted to clash with mine.

He looked… sad.

And I tried to look as non-hostile and accepting as possible.

Much too soon, he looked away to write back, proffering the paper between us. I took it anxiously.

_Don't tell me you have a thing for bad boys._

My blush was back. I shot a glance over to him and his sadness was gone, replaced by another soft smirk. Maybe he was bipolar.

Hand shaking, I cramped in my next message.

_Are you?_

I stared innocently at Mr. Banner as I passed the note back under the table, holding in a blushing nervous smile that snuck out when his fingers brushed mine.

I was pretty sure we were flirting. In a sort of messed up way.

My hand lingered between us, patiently waiting as he finished up. I clasped the note when it touched my palm.

_If I said yes, would you continue to talk with me?_

I nibbled on the corner of my mouth. I thought up my poor police chief father and my crazy over-bearing mother. And then I thought about myself.

_Yes. Anyway, Jessica sucks._

I handed it back and peeked over when he chuckled, the sound low and inviting and his crooked smile even more so. He wrote back quickly and decisively and passed it to me, fingertips brushing my palm.

_I'm not bad._

Ha, I knew it.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** LMAO this fic is fun. Also, I know Charlotte Brontë didn't write Wuthering Heights and Emily did, so it doesn't make much sense Charlotte would be Bella's favorite author, but I like Charlotte better so I'm using her. *shrug*

Thanks for the reviews, guys!! XD

* * *

There was something about walking next to Edward Cullen as he graciously led me to gym that was oddly comforting.

Could it be that Jessica Stanley took one look at my smiling face and sarcastic casual wave and looked like she was about to scream, vomit and die? Was it that _no one_ said hello, bothered, or acknowledged my existence besides parting like the red sea, making it the first moment all day no one poked and prodded at me?

Or was it that I was walking next to this tall, broad-shouldered, green-eyed and downright sexy guy who seemed honestly interested in the detailed recount of my boring and sad moving arrangements when he wasn't smiling ruefully and talking about why he loved Dickinson so much?

All three, truly.

"She says so much in so few words. They're just words. Just a random assortment of words, but the way she _puts_ them together and the inflections… it's just fascinating. Transcendent."

"Mhmm," I replied, lips stretching at his sheepish grin. "I bet you two would have been very happy together," I teased.

He shrugged and looked sidelong at me. "Well, what do you like?"

"Uhm, I like to read," I said lamely. "More prose than poetry. And cooking."

"Favorite author?"

"Charlotte Brontë."

He laughed softly; I was beginning to notice Edward did everything softly—gently and unassumingly. The fact that he'd done something as heinous as bringing an armed weapon to school seemed less likely every moment I spent with him.

"What's so funny?" I shot back, stopping to straighten my spine and ready to defend the most amazing author of all time. (In my personal opinion.)

He shook his head, adjusting the bag over his shoulder, playing with the tearing strap. "I should have known."

"Meaning?" I pointed my nose up at him and tapped my foot mockingly, the insistent rhythm stuttering when he inched closer, those magnetic eyes narrowing and that mouth suppressing a slow smirk.

"_Meaning_ I should have pegged you for an avid reader of headstrong capable women," he explained, brows rising with challenge.

My arms slowly uncrossed, which was a mistake because really, I had no idea what to do with them swinging stupidly at my sides. Edward was still invading my personal bubble and looking at me expectantly which was distracting me _more_ and I was stuck between unadulterated bliss and paralysis.

"Oh," I squeaked finally. "Thanks."

I did not feel headstrong or capable in that moment.

In fact, I felt pretty submissive and incompetent. And lovesick.

I'd known Edward Cullen for about two hours and he was poisoning my mind with mush.

"Favorite dish?"

I blinked and unconsciously leaned forward as he tilted his head to the side. "Mmm… waffles. I have a special ingredient. But if I told you, I'd have to find a time machine to go back and stop myself from ever mentioning it," I announced.

He looked down at his feet to hide a sudden contagious grin, a lock of his messy hair flopping down over his forehead and nearly brushing mine. I resisted the urge to bat it away and then bury both my hands through the silky locks.

"What do you like?" I tore my eyes away to flit over the buttons of his shirt, the wrinkles at the collar, and his big hands half-stuffed into jean pockets.

"Poetry, obviously. I compose a little on the piano."

"That's amazing." Playfully, and because I couldn't contain myself, I nudged his arm, absorbing the jolt that shot through my hand and filled my chest. "That's really impressive, Edward."

He shrugged and turned away, opening the door and leading me across the quad.

We'd only taken two steps before he started to speak. "So, Bella Swan."

"Yes, Edward Cullen?"

"There's something illusive about you that I just don't understand."

"You have only known me for two hours." Plus, I had more reason to find something illusive about _him_ and by golly I _did_.

"Even so," he continued. "Jessica told you what… I did," he said tentatively, his voice flattening and deepening, losing the light tone that sped my heart. "Everyone else avoids me like the plague. And yet, here you are."

Yes, here I was. And despite everything I'd found out, I was pretty sure I didn't want to be anywhere else in the godforsaken town. To be quite honest, this godforsaken town was the last place in the world I had really wanted to be, but suddenly Edward seemed like a good enough reason to get a little comfortable; having a _friend_ couldn't hurt.

Of course, I didn't think I just wanted to be his friend, but I could settle.

"You just don't seem like…" I trailed off, tearing my eyes from his contemplative profile. Students were milling about, avoiding our path and shooting surreptitious glances with wide scared eyes mixed with curling disgusted glares.

I felt a pang. Edward had to deal with this every day. Somehow, I didn't care if I had to either.

"…you don't seem _like_ that," I concluded, and gave him a small smile.

"Like what?" he prodded quietly, gently.

"Like you'd… do something so horrible. I don't think you would have hurt anyone. I am…" Too soon, too soon. Maybe. I had to ask though. Maybe in the right way? "I'm curious though. You don't have to answer, but why… did you?"

His face became expressionless and he looked up to the grey skies, blinking fast when a raindrop splashed against his forehead. He lifted a hand to wipe it away and I think he was shaking.

"Bella, it's not safe. Maybe one day."

I looked down at my feet and swallowed. "Okay."

Not safe? One day? What?

"Truly, one day," he repeated, his voice injected with emotion.

I started a little when he grabbed my hand, fingers weaving through mine. His eyes were alive and promising. He looked down at our clasped hands in awe and the paralysis was back.

"Okay," I whispered.

"It's amazing you're—that anyone is talking to me."

I bit my lip and blushed ridiculously, unable to muster any other sort of response. For a moment Edward was still in the moment and then he seemed to come to, dropping my hand and smiling with contriteness.

"Let's get you to gym."

I followed in a daze, mulling over his words as we stopped a few feet from the doors.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

I nodded and smiled. "I'll sit with you at lunch?"

"Sounds good." He looked just as happy as I felt, which was probably impossible.

A beat passed and I let out a soft laugh to break the tension only I was imagining.

"All right then," he murmured, grinning. And then he left, half-jogging to the parking lot.

Oh, Edward Cullen.

"So, you and Cullen?" Mike's brash voice seemed startling after Edward's smooth tones and definitely not as welcoming.

I snapped my head over to his pouting wary face and nodded rebelliously. "We're friends."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. You can come crying to me when you realize he's just a freak. I don't know why you're bothering, Bella. He's seriously dangerous."

Anger blossomed—how _dare_ he—and I ambled right past him with my best and deepest glower, immaturely knocking my shoulder against his.

It probably hurt me more than it hurt him, but I was okay with that.

"Hey!" he shouted at my back, but I was already inside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Uhm… yeah. Two chapters in one day has never happened before. Letting you guys know. :P

The poem, of course, is by Emily Dickinson.

* * *

I made steak that night for dinner.

Partly because I had bought some over the weekend for a special occasion and partly because I felt absolutely terrible I'd befriended the one person in town Charlie probably wanted me to have nothing to do with.

It was a guilt steak.

I marinated, boiled and mashed potatoes and sautéed some vegetables like a five-star chef. Dinner was on the table for Charlie when he walked in the door, thankfully late. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been ready and I didn't need anything else to amplify my remorse.

I wasn't _sorry_ I was a friend to Edward Cullen. I was just sorry for what it would do to my dear old dad when he found out.

Forks was too small. He would find out.

"Wow, Bells," he crooned, falling into his seat and picking up his silverware.

I sat down too, watching as he carved out huge piece and nearly swallowed it whole.

"Really good," he said, chewing the steak on one side of his mouth.

"Thanks," I said distractedly, and nervously swallowed some mashed potatoes. "How was your day?"

"Ah, busy. Police stuff," he said simply. "How was school?"

Insane, wonderful, weird.

"It was okay," I answered vaguely.

"Make any friends?"

"Uhm, sort of. I talked to Jessica Stanley and Mike Newton." I was a horrible liar, but Charlie never seemed to notice.

"Good kids." He started demolishing his mashed potatoes, and I deployed Operation: Mention Edward Cullen for Reaction and Possibly More Information.

"So, Mike and Jess mentioned something kind of… weird."

"Yeah?"

"They said this guy Edward Cullen brought a gun to school sophomore year. Everyone avoids him now."

Charlie raised his eyes and abruptly stopped eating, his expression fierce and protective. Here it came. "I want you to stay away from that boy, you hear me? He's trouble, Bella, and I don't want you to involve yourself with people like _him_."

I looked down at my plate and spun my fork in the mashed potatoes. "I wasn't," I lied. "I was just curious. Do you know why?"

There was silence and I chanced a look up. Charlie's face was blanched except for the puce in his cheeks, his lips thinned. "He's a troubled kid, Bells." He hunched over his food and began eating again. "Edward said he wasn't going to hurt anyone, and Carlisle agreed to take him out of school for therapy as long as no charges were pressed. The only reason they weren't was because all the money he _donated_ to that school."

"Carlisle?"

"Adoptive parent. Edward's died when he was young. He's the doctor down at the hospital."

"Oh," I sighed.

Oh.

* * *

I was beginning to realize the only person who knew the truth for sure was Edward.

There was a chance Carlisle did too, but I had no way of asking _him_ without looking like his son's nosey obsessed stalker.

Besides, Edward had all but promised he'd tell me the truth one day. He had some skeletons. Who didn't? And I wasn't about to give up my only friend in this dreary too-wet town. Not by a long shot. By the morning I'd given up my fruitless search. Edward would tell me when he was ready.

The only thing I needed to know was that he wasn't some psychotic killer and it was pretty clear he wasn't.

I walked through the halls, thinking about Edward and trying to calm my nerves at the thought of seeing him again. It wasn't until I was halfway to class that I noticed the staring.

At me.

And it was a different staring then yesterday. It wasn't curious or assessing or friendly in the least. It was the kind of staring that bored right through me, as if the person looking was seeing me and deciding I were less than human, not a part of them. Like I was being cast out before I was even accepted.

I ducked into English and sat in the back, looking hard down at my desk.

It's not like I cared—I didn't know these people. But it was disconcerting; it was upsetting for the sheer fact that it hurt to be so plainly and easily ostracized.

And it hurt because I knew it was only a fraction of what Edward had gone through—was going through.

This was different than being invisible, which I was used to. This was being disliked and rendered unworthy.

I went through the rest of the morning in a similar fashion—head down and sitting in the back. Only once did someone speak to me, and it was only Lauren Mallory, this prissy blonde bitch Jessica had introduced to me yesterday. And even then it was only a short nasty "freak" hissed in my ear walking to class.

Jessica ignored me completely and Mike just glared.

It was only when I got to lunch and saw Edward sitting near the vending machines, a new worn book in his hands and an abandoned tray of lunch next to him that my spirits lifted.

I wished I could see him more during the day.

I weaved through the tables quickly, getting by with only a minor stubbed toe. It throbbed, but wasn't anything notable. I felt too eager when I sat down next to him, our shoulders almost bumping.

"Hey," I grinned with relief.

"Hey yourself."

"How was your day?" I asked breathlessly, pulling out my lunch.

"Nothing special." He didn't look away from my eyes and it was making me a little light-headed. "Yours?"

Terrible, but looking up now.

"Same."

"Is that peanut butter and banana?" He poked at my sandwich and I flushed.

"Yeah." It was my favorite.

He leaned over and back at the same time, hooking his feet under the table and running a hand through his already mused hair. He smirked at his tray. "Cute."

I didn't know quite how to respond to something so… _cute_, so I changed the topic before I could start stuttering and he'd realize I was anything but. "Do you want some?"

"No thank you." He reached for the apple on his plate and bit into it pointedly, as if saying he had his own food and wouldn't take mine.

I fidgeted in the following silence. Normally silence didn't bother me. Normally, I preferred it. But with Edward it felt stifling and awkward and thrilling all at the same time. I wasn't sure if I liked it.

"So, ready for Biology?" I cringed inwardly. What a stupid question.

"I will be in…" He glanced down at his watch. "…thirty-five minutes, give or take."

I blushed for no reason other than he was looking at me. "Wanna pass notes again?" I asked conspiratorially.

He grinned and edged closer, his hand reaching to hold onto the back of my chair. I felt the warm tips of his fingers touch just below my bra and shivered. "I was counting on it."

"Oh, good." I tried to sound mock relieved, but my voice was too tight. "I don't think I could survive through another lecture Banner-style."

He chuckled, his other hand finally releasing his book. The cover flopped on. Jane Eyre. Curious, my brows raised and I reached for it, holding it up to his bemused face.

"Brontë?" I teased.

"Well, Bella," he drawled, and the sound was positively alluring, "you had me interested."

His confession pooled my face with color even though he hadn't meant it like _that_ and I instantly averted my gaze to the space in front of me. "Uhm," was all I could say.

"You look beautiful today," he added in a low whisper, his voice sincere and devoid of teasing.

He was a liar. I knew for a fact that I was wearing jeans and a simple periwinkle hoodie. I had also fussed with my hair after showering, but it was still wavy and boring, but at least it was smooth from thoroughly blow-drying it.

Unsure, I looked over to his lap, noting his half-untied converses, used and slightly dirty. His jeans were faded because they were old and not because he'd bought them like that. His button down was untucked and slightly wrinkled, just as yesterday, but this shirt was off-white grey and not black. It looked like he was wearing the same t-shirt underneath and his scruff looked one more day neglected, but his hair was clean and messy, like he'd slept on it while it was still wet.

I was plain and neat and he was imperfectly gorgeous.

I sighed and met his eyes, which were dark again but not sad at all. Only like liquid stormy emerald.

"Eh," I forced out.

He smiled. "You don't believe me?"

I shook my head and smiled painfully, nervously picking gently at the binding of his book. He leaned closer, balancing on one leg of the chair, and now his forearm was resting against my back, his lips near my ear.

"The rose did caper on her cheek," I felt his sly smile, and one finger lifted to touch my closest flaming cheek, its warmth condemning me to stillness. His voice was like silk and velvet rolled into one, rhythmically weaving in and out to the sensual words. "Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful." I blushed harder; my eyes fluttered almost closed when his hand covered mine. "Her fingers fumbled at her work,— Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to know, Till opposite I spied a cheek," he touched my other cheek, tracing the curve; my breath held, "That bore another rose; Just opposite, another speech That like the drunkard goes; A vest that, like the bodice, danced To the immortal tune,— Till those two troubled little clocks Ticked softly into one."

The leg of his chair hit the ground with a startling thud, his eyes bright as they greedily roamed my shocked red face.

Edward Cullen _was_ trouble.

* * *

I spent the entire trip from lunch to Biology bumping shoulders with Edward and smiling like an idiot.

That was until Jessica accidentally rammed into my shoulder and nearly dislocated it. Before she hissed, "Whore" under her breath and stalked away.

Edward stiffened beside me, his hand grabbing my waist protectively. I looked up to his cold furious expression glaring daggers at Jessica's retreating back. My voice lodged in my throat.

"You know what the worst part is?"

I shook my head at his flat scary tone, and then he looked down at me, his eyes softening.

"I can't even blame any of them for hating me."

My lips parted; I felt his sadness as if it were my own.

"You don't have to be hated too, Bella."

His eyes were pleading, as if he wanted to be without my friendship, but his arm was still around me as if he couldn't bear the thought.

"I don't care if they hate me," I said softly.

Edward only smiled tightly and led me into class.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Voilà. :)

* * *

Week two of crushing on Edward Cullen started normally enough.

I woke up, showered, got dressed, did my hair, looked into the mirror and gave up. I made Charlie pancakes. (With berries, because I was still feeling like a horrible daughter and he loves berries.) I grabbed my bag, got into my car and drove to school while my old red truck's engine sputtered and wheezed and threatened to fall apart.

I pulled into the parking lot, squeezed into a spot and tripped out of my car. (Literally. I collided with the civic next to the driver's side and spent a good thirty seconds holding my funny bone in blinding pain.)

I walked into school and ignored The Looks and found the floor to be quite interesting. I sat in the back and copied notes, avoiding unnecessary backward glares and cruel laughter shared over whispered secrets, as usual.

I only bit my lip and braced my shoulders when the third person _accidentally_ knocked into me in the halls.

I didn't lash out or cry when some bitchy senior grabbed the books in my hands and threw them on the floor, her lips curled into a nasty sneer.

I didn't do anything but kneel and collect my scattered worksheets and bindings and hustle back to class.

I certainly didn't take a pass during math and hide in the library until lunch because Lauren Mallory spent the entire duration of my stay calling me every version of a disgusting slut in the book.

Truly, I thought she might have a thesaurus hidden in her big hair.

Only, actually, I did do that last thing. But I didn't really want to admit to it.

By the time I sat next to Edward at lunch, completely devoid of appetite but full of anger, annoyance and yes, a few tears, I was utterly exhausted.

"Hey," he greeted me and consequently looked up and consequently saw my face and consequently began to frown. "Bella? What's wrong?"

His turkey sandwich was halfway to his mouth when I sat down, but now it was back on his plate. I couldn't really bare the concerned and slightly panicked look on his face and decided to talk to the lump of food instead.

"Nothing," I smiled, but it was probably an unconvincing smile because the turkey just stared back.

"You don't have a 'nothing' face."

Dammit. I could certainly fool Charlie, but not the turkey.

"No. I one hundred percent have a nothing face," I argued.

"Liar," Edward muttered and pushed his tray away, so now I was done with the turkey staring contest and looking at his chest instead.

He was wearing green today. A faded sort of forest green that made his jade eyes all the more extraordinary. I raised my gaze to the stubbly shadow on his chin to see them in my peripheral because I was that pathetic. For a detouring second I wondered if he ever shaved and if he would still look as handsome with a beard.

I decided he probably would, because I was really that pathetic to find a scratchy beard attractive as long as it was on Edward.

Had it _really_ only been a week since I met Edward Cullen? It felt like a lifetime. Or two.

I gave in to his searching gaze and looked up into his worried eyes. Maybe it was more like three.

"I'm not a liar," I shot back weakly.

The weekend had been torture. After I said goodbye to him near my truck and got in, his smile warming me all the way home, I thought about him incessantly. I thought about his voice and his smile and the small scar on his right jaw that interrupted his growing beard. I thought about his passion for music and if he would ever play for me. I thought about Debussy and Mozart and all the composers he mentioned with a smile. I thought about the poetry he read me Friday afternoon (Pablo Neruda and Charlotte Brontë, specifically for me) and I looked over the notes we scribbled in Biology.

I was hopeless.

I wasn't just crushing anymore. This was definitely venturing into _infatuation_ with a side of obsession.

So when combining the insecurity concerning my emotions for Edward, the most likely shallower feelings he held for me, and Lauren Mallory's superfast supernasty synonym generator, I was in a right state.

He raised one disbelieving eyebrow and I sighed. "I'm not," I said. Then I sighed again when he leaned forward and entered my personal space, his knees touching mine. "Lauren is just giving me a hard time, that's all."

I shrugged, and flicked my eyes up when I realized he had gone tense.

Edward looked sort of… dangerous. Which was sort of scary because I'd never seen him angry, and that troubled dark flash in his eyes was disconcerting and new. His fists were clenched; his jaw was tight.

Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it.

"It's not a big deal," I quickly amended, but he was already looking up, his glare searing into the back of a certain blond head.

"What's she doing?" he asked, nearly growling.

"Uhm, nothing." I swallowed past the lump in my throat, hypnotized by his hostile reaction and unable to flinch away. "She's just… you know, girl stuff. She's not being nice. It doesn't matter, remember?"

I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding when his eyes found mine again, that beautiful jade softening, narrowing and looking down in shame.

The lean muscles in his forearms relaxed and his fingers uncurled, palms resting over my knees. Immediately I stilled, not wanting to make a move lest he pull the touch away.

"Sorry," he breathed.

"Don't you dare apologize for that bimbo," I chastised.

"No, not…" His shoulders hunched and scary Edward was completely gone. "I _am_ sorry that the universe decided idiots like Lauren Mallory deserve to exist, but what I _meant_ was that I'm sorry you have to deal with her because of me."

He pulled back. My knees felt cold; his hands tugged through the knot that was his hair.

"No, Edward—" I didn't think. Clearly I wasn't thinking, because I leaned forward in protest, my hands covering his jean-encased thighs, thighs that were warm and hard underneath my fingers. His eyes shot to mine and he was completely frozen. "Uh… I, uhm…" Slowly, I pulled my hands into my lap, blushing fiercely and rambling on. "What _I_ mean is that I'm… not sorry. I'm a big girl. I can deal with it."

He stared at me and I tried to stare back, but my eyes darted with discomfort and embarrassment at my actions, and I jerked a little only to fall forward further when he bent towards me again, our faces much closer than courtesy allowed.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are utterly irrational, Bella?" he sing-songed, and I would have taken offense if he wasn't smirking at me.

"First one," I murmured back with a hesitant smile. I was beginning to notice the closer Edward got to me, the more likely I was to speak in fragments.

"Then I'm honored." He chuckled and looked down bashfully.

I was definitely infatuated.

* * *

It was only after Biology, Gym, a drive home and an impromptu shower later (to wash myself of Lauren's nastiness) that I realized there was no food in the house.

The steak was gone and my short grocery shopping trip hadn't lasted as long as I had hoped it would, probably because Charlie ate like a horse. By the time I was contemplating stocking up the kitchen, my dad was ten minutes from getting off of work.

So I did the next best thing: I jumped into my dying vehicle and rode it to one of the diners on the outskirts of town.

The small shack was homey, cramped and smelled like burgers and fries. I breathed it in as the bell chimed over my head, smiling at the blast of heat that flushed my face. It would be nice not to cook for _one_ night this week, and besides, Charlie could use a treat. Well, another one, because I was still a bad daughter.

Worse even, considering my crush had risen to new heights.

Of course, because it was just my luck, Jessica Stanley was blowing pink bubblegum bubbles behind the counter.

She glared at me and swiped a curl from her forehead as I approached, my head held high and my stomach dropping to the ground.

"Bella," she hissed acidly.

"Hey, Jessica." I tried to smile.

"I guess you want some food?"

"Uhm, I was going to pick up some for my dad." Maybe if I said it was for Charlie, the chief of police, Jessica might not spit in it.

She looked at me expectantly. Sort of like I was retarded.

"Well?"

"Cheeseburger deluxe, extra fries. And… he wants a side salad with honey mustard dressing." The salad, obviously, was for me.

Jessica punched some keys on the register and put the order in. "$15.63."

I gave her money and waited patiently for the change, depositing all of it in the tip jar. "Thanks, Jess."

"Whatever."

I sat down a stool and chomped down on my lip, sneaking glances her way. She banged around, replacing salt and sugar shakers and wiping down the soda machine, all the while chewing her gum loudly.

After awhile I simply started playing with my nails. Charlie better appreciate his burger, because _this_ was uncomfortable.

"So, are you guys like dating now or something?"

Startled, I looked up. Jess had her arms folded across her chest and her lips pursed. "What?"

"You and the terrorist?"

Oh no she didn't. "He is _not_—"

"So are you?" She cut me off and all I could do was feel my face heat with unreleased ire.

"That's _none_ of your business," I spat out.

Plus we weren't. Even though I wanted to be.

Jessica only tapped her foot twice, spun around, grabbed a white bag I hadn't noticed and threw it on the table in front of me. "Here," she snarled. "You know what, Bella? I thought you were decent. I mean yeah, you're kinda quiet and you dress really weird, but you seemed pretty decent. And now you're just fraternizing with the enemy and it's _sick_. He could have really hurt someone and here you are, parading around with that asshole just because you probably have a stupid crush on him or something!"

Her words slapped me in the face. No, more like: her words collided into me with the force of fifty mach trucks and one frightened elephant.

"You don't even know him." I forced the words out, but they sounded weak even to my ears.

"_Yeah_, and neither do _you_," she retorted sarcastically.

I ignored the truth of her statement and grabbed the bag. I didn't even remember driving home.

Jessica was right.

It gutted me to admit it, but she was right.

When I got home, I handed the bag to dear old Charlie who was already in front of the flatscreen and ran upstairs.

I took out a piece of paper, sat on my desk, let out a heavy breath and wrote:

Things I know about Edward Cullen

1.) He loves poetry and probably fantasizes about Emily Dickinson.

2.) He loves to compose music for the piano.

3.) He's shy and soft-spoken.

4.) He has a temper.

5.) He never shaves. (It's kind of cute.)

6.) He brought a gun into school without the intention of hurting anyone.

7.) He went to therapy for a year after.

8.) His family must be loaded, because they gave the school money to keep it hush-hush.

9.) He's adopted and his dad is Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

10.) He never talks about Carlisle or his actual parents.

11.) He never talks about his past.

12.) His past isn't safe?

13.) I really like him and I feel horrible writing this list like he's something to figure out because he's not a mystery to solve, he's just a man with terrible secrets and maybe I should have a little faith.

14.) Ugh. I don't know what to think.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement, guys!

* * *

I spent the rest of the night listening to Jimi Hendrix, staring at my ceiling and thinking.

By the time I arrived at school the following morning, I was determined.

This was what I determined:

1.) I trusted Edward. It might be stupid and foolish and social suicide, but I trusted him.

2.) Sooner or later, I needed to know the truth, or else I wasn't sure I could be his friend. I had _some_ dignity I intended to hold onto.

3.) I needed Edward to trust _me_, or else all of my other determined determinations were for naught.

I was happy with these determinations. I was determined and walking confidently through the halls, my chin level with the floor for the first time since last week.

Jessica had been right: even if Edward wasn't planning on harming anyone, he could have. What he did was serious and dangerous, but that didn't mean there wasn't a logical explanation.

And she was also right that I didn't know Edward very well, but that hardly meant I didn't know him _at all_. Because I did know that he had only ever been kind and thoughtful towards me and as far as I could tell, he was polite with everyone else as well. Well, anyone who would get close enough at least. (That mostly included lunch ladies and teachers, but still.)

Edward wasn't a monster.

I smiled and continued around a corner, shocked and slightly disconcerted when I bumped headlong into some unnamed body. And yes, this time it was an _actual accident_. I was starting to forget what those felt like.

Thank god I had my natural clumsiness to remind me.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I replied on guilty reflex.

There was really no need though, because it was only Mike Newton. Suddenly I felt neither sorry nor guilty.

"Oh _hey_ Bella," he grinned, and it was sickly and kind of frightening.

Right, time to go. "Bye," I said quickly and tried to sidestep him, but that little fucker was fast.

"Hey, wait." He grabbed my arm and for the first time in my life, including the agonizing day I broke my forearm in two places falling off of my bike, I wanted nothing more than to take a chainsaw and cut the limb clean off. "I was wondering, you know, since you and Cullen are _getting to know each other_," my jaw dropped; my blood boiled at his cruel smirk, "maybe you could set aside some _alone_ time for me too."

I, Isabella Swan, have always considered myself a pacifist. Violence is never the answer.

Except, of course, when Mike "My hair defies gravity and I'm a douchebag" Newton has his icky hands all up on my arm and is propositioning me like it's even a little appropriate.

I wrenched my arm away like he had the most disgusting type of cooties and then slapped him hard across the cheek with a loud, embarrassing, resounding _smack_.

My hand really really hurt.

He held his cheek, his mouth open in shock. "What was that for?!" he screeched.

"That was for being a perv!" I hissed, balancing on my tiptoes to point a finger into his face.

It was the middle finger, by the way.

"Fucking bitch!" His face went the deepest most ugly red I'd ever seen, and then suddenly he was up against the row of lockers with a thud and a clang, his cheek smushed into the metal.

Also, Mike's arm was twisted painfully behind him and Edward was holding him there, his face a mask of barely controlled rage.

"_Apologize to her_," he demanded, his velvety voice somehow controlled and level and terrifying all at the same time.

I took the moment to realize that one, we had an audience, two, this probably wasn't a good idea, and three, oh my god Edward Cullen.

Mike struggled, his voice spewing out insults of every shape and size, but Edward's other hand grabbed his ugly head of hair and banged it into the lockers with unnecessary force, holding it there.

"_Apologize_," Edward ground out impatiently, the order hissed through bared clenched teeth.

"Fuck you, Cullen! You fucking freak! Get your fucking hands off of me, asshole!"

"Not until you apologize," Edward drawled, his lips twisting up into a grim smirk.

"Edward," I whispered, and his angry green eyes shot towards me. "It's okay. Let him go. I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."

It took quite a few long seconds for Edward's gaze to lighten and soften, and then he pulled Mike from the lockers and threw him across the hall, his body stumbling but righting itself quickly.

My heart lodged in my throat as Mike advanced back, his spine straight and his lips sneering, but Edward stood his ground. "Don't ever fucking touch me again, Cullen," Mike warned.

"Stay away from her," Edward said simply, and I felt a chill run down my spine from the threat embedded in the words, the possessiveness he was claiming over me.

"Fuck you," was Mike's parting remark, and then he disappeared into the shocked dispersing crowd.

I looked at Edward in a mixture of shock and awe as he turned towards me, his anger filtering away into a more characteristic flush of… something, be it shame or embarrassment. His hand lifted and he held the spot on my arm that Mike had gripped viciously, but Edward's touch was comforting and firm.

"You okay?"

"What the hell?" I came to and shook off his hand. "That was _totally_ uncalled for, Edward."

He blinked at me. His jaw only tensed and the muscles in his neck worked under the stubble of his almost-there beard.

Great.

"Newton's an asshole," he supplied as an answer.

I rolled my eyes. "Well duh, but slamming him into a locker doesn't help any!"

"And slapping him did?" A hint of a smile peeked through his annoyance.

I huffed. "Maybe. That's not the point! I can take care of myself!" I spat, waving my arms emphatically.

I was going for intimidating, but judging by the amusement on Edward's face, I probably looked like a confused flapping duck.

I glared back, determined to win this one, and triumphed when he sighed, held out his hand for me to take, and said, "I'm sorry, Bella."

I couldn't help the smile that took hold of my lips when his fingers wrapped over mine. "Apology accepted. But don't do it again." I added that last sentence for emphasis, and he nodded in consent. "Seriously. What if you got caught and then suspended or something? What would I do then?"

He laughed as we headed down the hall, and it occurred to me he was still holding my hand, and his thumb was lightly rubbing circles over my fingers. Which meant this handholding thing was definitely a consciously on-going decision on his part.

I was sort of melting. And then he glanced over and held my eyes, skimming his gaze over my blushing cheeks and smiling lips and back again. And then I was a goner.

Dear God,

Thank you for Edward Cullen.

Love,

Bella.

* * *

I spent the next two periods contemplating the feel of Edward's hand clasping mine.

I spent the two periods after that ignoring Lauren/thinking about the one determination I didn't feel so determined about.

My entire list of said determinations hinged on _when_. _When_ would Edward trust me? _When_ would he tell me? And most importantly: how long was an acceptable period of time before my all-too-important dignity was slipping through my fingers?

And of course: how long was I _willing_ to wait?

That was a big one.

That was the one I was forcing myself to think about considering my knee-jerk answer of "an eternity seems reasonable" wasn't actually reasonable at all.

That was the one I was thinking about when Angela Weber disrupted my train of thought with a hesitant unsure smile and a quiet "uhm, Bella?"

The bell had already rung and students were filtering out of the class, leaving me, the round glob of a Mr. Whitman, and Angela, who for some reason was talking to me.

We'd been introduced that first day, but hadn't spoken since for obvious reasons, and although Angela was one of the few students (okay, the only) that _didn't_ either look right through me or glare in my general direction, her attention was still odd.

Mostly because I was growing accustomed to be hated, and Angela didn't look like she hated me.

"Hey, Angela." I smiled, and a glimmer of hope rose in me. Maybe Angela really _didn't_ hate me. I was never one for many friends (quality over quantity, I say), but having another one sounded so good at that moment in time.

"Hey." She looked down and sort of let out a nervous laugh. "Uhm so, I was wondering if I could sit with you and Edward at lunch?"

Wait a second.

"I don't want to impose or anything," she started stammering at my instant silence. "It's just that Edward and I were paired to work on this project for English and I'm not sure how to approach him…"

I frowned. "Angela, Edward is really nice. You could talk to him."

She met my eyes and looked apologetic and a little remorseful, her mouth opening and probably to say sorry. I cut her off, because despite an entire week of being put down and ridiculed, I sort of understood where she was coming from. At least she wasn't being a horrible excuse of a human being about it, unlike some people I know. (For example: the entire student body.)

"And of course you can sit with us at lunch," I added.

Her apology morphed into a thankful grin. "Thanks, Bella. I'll see you then."

* * *

When Angela quietly, carefully and excruciatingly slowly sat down at our table, the cafeteria noticed.

There was a small dip in conversation before it started up again with fervor, and that was before she even hit the chair. Not to mention Edward sort of choked a little mid-sip.

"Angela's sitting with us today," I explained brightly, smiling and nodding my head.

"Yeah, I—I didn't want to impose but…" She flickered her gaze to Edward, uncomfortable. "Well, we have a project to do and I figured we could uhm, plan it. If that's okay."

Edward looked to me in surprise and then to Angela, sputtering mostly from the coke he misplaced into his lungs. Soothingly, I rubbed his back on impulse. "Yeah, sure," he finally managed hoarsely.

"Okay," she said, obviously relieved, and took out her notes, which were written in a precise scrawl. "So, I was thinking it would be best to just do a quick presentation instead of that awfully long paper. Unless you wanted to write the paper? It's just I'm so _busy_ and I want to be efficient. Really, we can do whatever you want."

Description words for Angela: neat and efficient.

"No," Edward shook his head, watching as she fluttered about her notes and rambled on nervously. "The presentation sounds easier. We'll do that."

It wasn't until Edward cupped my knee under the table that I realized my hand was still on his back. This breathing thing was getting more difficult with each passing second.

He smirked sidelong at me as if he _knew_.

Gah, Edward Cullen.

Angela was talking and although he was now looking at her and discussing… something… Shakespeare, I think? I was watching his lips move and daringly slipping my hand from his back to loosely wrap around his wrist.

It was thick and my fingers couldn't reach around it completely. The hair on his arm was soft and dark and it took a large portion of my will not to rest my head against his shoulder.

I chewed my lip as his fingers tickled my knee, stroking up and down in this deliberate dance that coiled me all up inside.

I couldn't help it when I slid my fingers over his, those long digits grasping mine. My cheek leaned into his shoulder and I resisted the urge to bury my nose into the cotton of his shirt.

"You should come, Bella."

Reality came crashing down. Suddenly I remembered there was more in my world besides Edward at the moment. "What?" I asked through the haze.

Edward chuckled, and his shoulders moved against me. "Angela was inviting us to her house to study and work on the project."

His eyes were gleaming as he murmured the words to me, his face too close for complete sentences to be comprehended at a normal speed.

However, I managed an "oh okay" somehow.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**

I LOVE YOU ALL BBS. Specifically however, I love Kris and Steph, because they are my friends and I play favorites. ~jkjk~ about the favorites.

This chapter is a ~little~ angsty, but the next one will be a bit lighter. Hey, some conflict has to happen for the sake of the plot, I figure.

* * *

I was pretending to go over trigonometry.

Really I was discreetly sneaking glances at Edward.

Specifically his smile while he and Angela were sprawled on the living room floor, knee-deep in construction paper and Elmer's glue.

You would think that by high school there would never be another need for sticky digestion-safe glue ever again, but you would be wrong.

I was kind of ridiculous. I needed to truly honestly understand Euler's infinite product, but somehow the curve of Edward's smile and the scruff lining his jaw seemed just that much more important.

I was fixated. Ugh. I was some lovesick horrible excuse for strong independent woman.

It didn't help that I also really wanted to be down there with them, gluing stick figures onto a white board to depict the epic tale of Macbeth.

I watched his large hands struggle with Popsicle sticks and listened to his frustrated laugh, his eyes flicking over to catch mine.

"Nice work," Angela chuckled, rolling her eyes and pushing herself to her feet. "Do you guys want anything from the kitchen?"

Edward declined and I shook my head with a small grin and a "no thanks" before she left the room.

Okay. Alone. With Edward Cullen. Completely and utterly alone. This was new.

He was grinning and I was trying not to, the tops of his cheeks a light magenta. He shrugged after a beat and lifted the failed artwork to show me the mess, as if to say "whatever."

I giggled, because Edward made me _giggle_. Yeesh.

"How's trig?" he inquired.

"Uhm… trig," I answered, blindly looking down to my notes with a nervous laugh.

"Come down here."

I was all too willing. Really, I was so willing I more or less tripped around the table and fell to the floor beside him. Or more like threw myself. Whatever, because that _wasn't the point_. The point was that up close I could see him better and up close he looked even more handsome and imperfectly perfect and tempting and mysterious.

"Angela's nice," he smiled down to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath his spreading beard. I wanted to touch it.

"Yeah, she is," I agreed, because I was ever so eloquent and wordy.

"You want to stay down here and help us?" His voice was tentative, and he leaned back on the heels of his hands, his shoulder hovering behind mine. I could smell him and I could feel his heat and hell yes I wanted to stay down here and help them.

"Sure," I whispered, twisting the hem of my shirt around my finger.

He shifted forward just an inch; I sucked in air and leaned back as if he were an inescapable magnet.

"I really am sorry about this morning." He sighed and his expelled breath ruffled my hair, sending chills down my spine. "Newton brings out the worst in me."

"Heh, I think he has that affect on most people."

"He deserved an ass-kicking and I didn't think of the consequences when I saw the look on his face," he continued, and his voice was low with menace, but he continued into a gentler melody that matched the soft caress he stole—fingertips dragging the hair from my shoulder. "But I shouldn't have. I just think…" He hesitated; he was quiet for a pause, and I wished I could see his face to know for sure, but I was paralyzed. "You're worth fighting for."

Okay. That was just _it_.

There was no way Edward Cullen was even _real_. He was some gorgeous entity my imagination had made up, period.

Bella's crazy. The end. Roll credits.

No?

Oh my god.

So I squeaked in response.

I tried again.

"Uhm… thanks for defending my honor?" I chanced a glance back, meeting his laugh and the crinkles around his eyes as he shook.

"Oh Bella." He came forward with a smirk and this time his hand snaked around my waist and his chest touched the line of my shoulders. I gasped and pushed back into him, cheeks flushing at my eager response.

But Edward didn't seem to mind.

"I'm more selfish than that."

One, _no_ pfft, and two, _ah_ he was so close.

"Selfish?" I sputtered.

"Yes," he confirmed and suddenly his hand was wrapping around the back of my neck and he looked… really serious and really… uhm… what was the word… uhm…

Was he staring at my lips?

Holy shit. Oh my god. Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking cross, he _was_.

And then Angela's dad—who is, by the way, a minister—walked into the room and the universe slapped me in the face.

"Dad, he's just—we're partners in this project—" Angela was stammering behind him, turning her eyes apologetically to us.

I, on the other hand, was still processing the fact that Mr. Weber looked like some cross between panicked and angry. And also worried for his trusting innocent daughter.

I pictured Charlie would look something like that walking in on Edward Cullen maybe leaning in to maybe kiss me, only a lot more murderous.

It took approximately three seconds for Edward to shoot up, his expression blank and his eyes flat, grab his bag, and head for the door. "Thanks, Angela," he said without looking back, mindful to keep his gaze from Mr. Weber averted. "We'll finish the project at school then."

It took me approximately fifteen excruciating seconds to gather my things, drop them twice, stuff them in my bag, and run out behind him, flashing a look of concern to Angela.

He was down the block, his jacket folded over the crook of his arm and his fists clenched, the tension straining every step he took. And he was walking _fast_.

I struggled with the strap on my shoulder and rushed to catch up as he crossed the street to the school parking lot.

I could spot his Volvo easily; it was only a few spaces from my decrepit hunk of junk. I watched as he tugged the keys out of his pocket and all but ran for his escape.

But I was closing in, all the while nearly falling over my own feet and miraculously not hitting my face on concrete.

"Edward," I called breathlessly when I reached him.

He wrenched the driver side door open and stared forward.

He looked… pained.

I whispered his name again and dropped everything in my arms—books, coat, everything—and reached for him, wedging myself into his line of his vision, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him tight.

He stayed still and unmoving, unrelenting. "Just for a few hours there," he ground out, "I almost felt _normal_."

"You _are_ normal," I argued into his shirt.

"God, Bella, _no_," he said wearily, his hands resting on my arms. He tried to push me away, but I squeezed him fiercely, bringing my chin up to rest on his breastbone.

He looked down at me, his eyes swimming with a rush of too many emotions, but mostly all I could see was his despair. I wanted to take it away. I wanted to share it with him. I wanted to see his smile again.

"Please trust me," I pleaded and his lips turned up but didn't meet his eyes.

His fingers weaved into my hair, cupping the back of my head. My lashes fluttered when his smooth lips touched my forehead, his stubble scratching my skin.

"You can trust me," I promised, and the friendliness of his gestures was dashed away when he kissed the corner of my right eye and then the tip of my cheek.

"I want you to come have dinner with my family tomorrow night, Bella," he requested, pulling back.

I looked deep into his terrified eyes and nodded.

It was a start.

* * *

Next up! Carlisle Cullen. Dun dun daaahhhh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: ** LMAO oh my god you guys are so awesome. I AM SO FLATTERED BY YOUR REVIEWS. Thank you for reading my rambling. REALLY THANK YOU.

Again, poems credited to the lovely Emily Dickinson.

* * *

There was just one minor (major, actually) problem about going to Edward's house to meet his adoptive father and possibly discover the secret that was driving me half-insane.

I had _nothing_ to wear.

This had never occurred to me ever before. This was never a problem I wasted more than a few minutes on in the morning before throwing on a reliable hoodie.

However, on that morning, the closet and all the drawers were gutted and their entrails were strewn haphazardly all over my floor. I literally could not find anything suitable to wear.

What said _"Hi Dr. Cullen, I am head over heels for your son but please clue me into what the hell he was thinking last year?"_ What could possibly say that while being simultaneously appropriate, modest and flattering to my boring figure?

I stomped around my room like a five-year-old and collapsed face down into my sheets with a load groan.

Ugh.

I didn't even have time to go shopping. And I _hated_ shopping. With a fiery passion.

Blah. The things I do (or would do, given an allocated amount of time) for Edward Cullen.

I finally settled on a pair of expensive jeans (my mother had got them for me as a present I grudgingly accepted) and a pretty silky black top I bought once because I really liked it, but there was not a chance in hell I would ever wear it.

Well. The things I wear for Edward Cullen.

Uhm. Cue blush. Not like _that_. Maybe one day, but not…

My face was flaming by the time I got to school and I was seriously hyperventilating when I spotted Edward leaning against his Volvo and then striding his way over once I'd parked.

"Bella." He opened the door for me before I could even try to move, and then his emerald eyes swept over my desperate attempt at looking decent.

"Hi." I slung my bag over with shoulders and slid to the ground, biting my lip as his hand guided me. I had yet to look up and gauge his reaction. I was kind of nervous to.

Okay, I _was_ nervous.

"You look…" I settled on staring at his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "You look really nice."

I was thinking I looked silly, but really nice was okay too. I finally raised my eyes and gave him a small shrug and a smile, and then it hit me.

Edward had _shaved_. His face was clean and smooth. I could see small whiskers he'd missed near his sideburns and my smile grew into a grin. "You look really nice yourself," I teased.

I also noted his cotton button up wasn't wrinkled. I could see an iron burn on his neatly folded collar and held back a giggle.

He flashed two rows of white teeth and placed a hand on my hip. "_You're_ happy today."

He raised his eyebrows and I rolled my eyes. Then (because why the hell not?) I adjusted his perfect collar and slipped out the top button of his shirt, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. "Better."

He looked down at me with a smirk and inched closer—I forgot to breathe, but he only slipped my bag off my shoulder and threw it over his. "I'll walk you," he said, only I heard _"Bella, you are my everything."_

I had it bad.

* * *

During lunch Angela stopped by briefly to apologize profusely for her father.

"He was just surprised to see you," she said, tugging too hard at her hair. Edward shrugged it off, the light in his eyes never wavering, as if what happened hadn't upset him as much as I knew it did.

"It's fine, Angela."

"Really," I chimed in, following his lead. "It's not your fault."

Although to be honest Mr. Weber didn't look _only_ surprised.

"He didn't mean to act so rude," she rambled on. "He was just worried and I think he feels sort of ashamed now. Edward, he's very protective of me and it was sort of… knee-jerk, you could say. Plus," she fidgeted, "he's still worried you know, about you. He doesn't understand why you didn't go to him, I guess. For whatever reason you had to… And you never come to church anymore!"

This was new. Edward used to go to church?

"At least since… what happened… happened."

I looked over to Edward, and he was staring at Angela with an indescribable look on his face. His jaw clenched and I could nearly see his brain turning over and over in thought. "Tell him I'm sorry about everything," he said simply. "Please. And that I take no offense for yesterday."

Angela hovered for a moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but instead she hastily bolted back to her own table with a weak departing "okay."

Edward looked down at his tray and sighed.

"You used to go to church?"

"I was religious," he deadpanned.

I had a feeling he did not want to talk about it.

"What happened?" I asked anyway, and he looked to me with a grim smile and shrugged.

"I had nothing to believe in anymore."

My heart seized. It was the saddest thing I had ever heard, and the hopelessness in his eyes burned straight through my soul.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close, surprised when he responded immediately, gripping handfuls of my shirt and burying his face into the crook of my neck.

Without the stubble, only his warm breath tickled my neck. "But I don't know," he sighed. "What's that poem?" He let out a soft sad laugh. "'_Hope' is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul – / And sings the tune without the words – / And never stops—at all_."

I smoothed back his hair and smiled as he held me tighter. "Yep," I agreed, and pressed my lips to his shoulder. "You can't get rid of it."

"Thank you," he murmured, and somehow I knew it wasn't just for the hug. He turned his mouth to my ear and I felt his eyes close; I felt his body relax beneath mine.

"Anytime," I responded lamely and it was only when the bell rang a few minutes later that I reluctantly pulled away.

* * *

I was nervous. I was more nervous than I had ever been—ever. And I was a pretty nervous person to begin with.

Edward had insisted on following me home so I could drop off my truck, take the Volvo, and then drive me home after dinner. I tried long and hard for him to understand that while Charlie would not be home now, he would notice Edward Cullen dropping me back off _later_.

However, Edward just shrugged.

I _also_ tried to explain to Edward that my father was the chief of police and had many working and loaded guns, but even that did not deter his decision.

Charlie was going to kill me. And he was going to kill Edward. And Edward just _shrugged_ as if this was not an issue.

I fiddled with his iPod as we raced into the forest, a bit too fast for my taste. Or safety. I thought about the lie I had told Charlie this morning about having dinner at Jessica's (ha!) and how badly he was going to react when he found out the truth.

Insert sigh here.

Insert, also, a jaw drop, because as Edward rounded a curve in the road his house/mansion was suddenly in my vision and I was feeling doubly nervous.

I was a freaking mess of butterflies.

"Like it?" He smiled at me as he parked.

"It's… big."

He chuckled. "You look scared."

"Well considering we're both going to _die_ by the hands of my own father later…"

"Relax, Bella," he said, laughing. "I won't come inside. I'll just drop you off."

I was assuaged, but not completely. There was still the matter of meeting Carlisle, Edward's deep dark secret, and not to mention the eventuality of Charlie finding out I was friends with the town delinquent.

Or maybe more than friends. It felt a bit like more.

Edward got out of the car, walked around, and opened my door for me in the meantime it took me to find the handle, unlock it, and attempt to do it myself.

I mock glared at his knowing smirk and brushed off his helping hand, my nose jokingly pointed to the sky as I got out sans his assistance. His laughter followed me up to the door.

Ah, the door. It was a large door. I felt like Alice after drinking that potion, specifically when she started to shrink.

"This is my door," Edward announced playfully.

"_Oh_." I pressed my lips together. "It's a very nice door."

"You should see my walls. And the ceilings! Divine." I felt some of the tension roll off my rigid spine as he twisted the knob and granted us entrance.

He wasn't kidding. It was beautiful inside. The foyer was large and spacey, the hardwood floors shining. A grand piano sat beneath the balcony of stairs, looking out into the wild forest.

"Wow," I intoned.

"Carlisle will be home for dinner in an hour or two," he said. It was only right then that it struck me—I was going to be alone with Edward for a while. I had been so nervous about meeting his family it failed to occur to me that Carlisle was working at three in the afternoon.

Immediately thoughts about Edward's room and his bed and me filtered through my mind, but I squashed them. "Oh. Who's cooking then?"

"Carlisle thought it would be better to pick something up. We, uh, can't really cook." I grinned up at his bashful smile and shifted on my feet, hooked by his green eyes.

"So…"

"Want a tour?"

"Sure."

The house was beautiful, yes, but because I was only thinking about Edward Cullen, the only thing I was interested in was his room.

I saw the basics: the kitchen, which was huge and amazing and fully stocked and seriously pleased the cook in me, the living room, which was spacious and decorated tastefully, the huge main bathroom with a tub the size of a small swimming pool, and then finally finally finally we were hovering outside Edward's door.

"And this… is my room," he announced.

We stared at each other.

"Well, can I see it?" I prodded.

"Since you asked so nicely…" He smirked and opened the door, gesturing that I go in first.

His walls were windows—from ceiling to floor, the scarce sun lighting every corner. His bed was pushed against one wall, facing the green forest and mountains in the distance, his covers tan and still slightly mused, as if he'd made a half-hearted effort fixing the sheets in the morning.

But what held my attention were the shelves—the shelves upon shelves towering beside his bedposts. Shelves and shelves of music and books. He even had a ladder to reach the highest ones. Throughout the room there were CDs and records and open books dotting the floor and furniture.

I smiled. "I like it." I spun around and just caught his blush before his eyes found the ground. "It's… you."

"So you like _me_?"

Oh gosh. I felt my cheeks heating and I didn't trust my voice. Instead I stepped forward towards him, intending to do what, I didn't know, and ended up gasping softly when his hands lifted and slipped over my hips.

He gazed down at me through lidded eyes; my breath sped up and I placed my hands over his chest. His heart pounded against my palm and my mouth went dry.

"Bella?" he whispered, like a question, and I could only nod.

One of his hands lifted, and my eyes closed to him when his fingers touched the curve of my flushing face. Suddenly all I could remember was his smooth voice whispering poetry into my ear.

_The rose did caper on her cheek._

All I could feel was his chest rising and falling beneath my trembling hands.

_A vest that, like the bodice, danced_

_To the immortal tune._

He tugged me closer and awkwardly I leaned against him, my arms trapped between our pressed bodies.

And then his lips touched softly to mine.

_Till those two troubled little clocks _

_Ticked softly into one._

_

* * *

_

I know I promised Carlisle, but I lied. Next time. :P_  
_


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Your reviews are seriously like my crack. You guys are effing amaziiiing. I wish I had time to respond to all of them. :(

Here, bbs. Last chapter for a couple of days. Sadly I have ~actual work to do~. Ew.

* * *

There is nothing like kissing the man of your dreams.

There is also nothing like being caught by said man's father in the midst of the aforementioned lip lock.

I had the simultaneous fortune and misfortune to experience both.

I also had the misfortune of tripping over a discarded book and landing flat on my ass in front of both of them.

What the hell was _wrong_ with my life?

I looked frightfully up into Carlisle Cullen's shocked handsome face and thought: okay. Take me now. Please, I'm ready to die.

_Please for the love of Edward Cullen spare me this humiliation_.

But, no. Of course. The world kept on turning and Edward rushed to help me to my clumsy horrible damned feet.

I hated those things.

"Uhm, hi Dr. Cullen," I stammered pathetically.

And then he… smiled. And _laughed_.

Oh my god, my _life_.

"You must be Bella," he said, and held out his hand.

I shook it, just because I had no idea what else to do besides hide underneath Edward's bed or something.

"Yeah… that's me," I confirmed.

"Well, I brought home some dinner, if you two would like to join me in the kitchen." Carlisle exchanged some sort of manly unspoken word with Edward, and just when I thought the situation couldn't get any worse he said, "Take your time" before leaving.

Oh _god_. The only thing I could do was promptly drop my head into my hands.

"Are you okay?"

I let out a moan that might have sounded like, "I've been better."

He _laughed_. What was it about Cullen men laughing at inappropriate times? "That was interesting." I could hear the amusement in his voice, but I forgave him, mostly because his arms were wrapping me up against him and he was warm and solid and mine.

At least for the moment.

I relaxed as his hands rubbed my back in deliberately slow circles, his breathing going deep beside my ear. Anticipation curled in my tummy and I unfurled my arms only to wrap them around his neck, shaking and trembling and how could he make the simplest gesture so…

The only word I could think of was _sensual_.

"_Bella_," he sighed out, and his hands were suddenly in my hair and I caught a glimpse of his parted lips before they fit between mine.

I think I died at least five times over and then once more when his tongue caressed my top lip, his hands holding my face to his. He exhaled, and his breath was heavy and bathed my lips—he licked again, and I shivered when the tip of his tongue entered my mouth, running against the edge of my teeth.

Hesitant, nervous, terrified, elated, I pressed my mouth to his and tasted him, felt the smoothness of his shaved jaw and the texture of his messy hair.

And then all too soon he was gently tipping my head to the side and placing a delicate kiss at the nape of my neck.

I had no idea where it came from, but when his moistened lips touched my skin, my body lost all uncertainty and arced into him, my fingers curling and gripping and scratching. I think I whimpered, but all I heard was Edward's low grunt.

I made Edward _grunt_.

"We need to go downstairs now," he breathed urgently.

And I knew he was right, but how could I resist or even attempt to pull away when he said it like _that_, when the hands on my hips were restlessly massaging my skin, and his green eyes were dark with promise?

"Downstairs sounds good," I choked out, and it was such a bold-faced lie I would have laughed if he didn't look so serious.

But it turned out the term 'going downstairs' to Edward meant leaning in to sweep his tongue into my mouth and then press not-very-chaste-at-all kisses to every inch of my lips.

I really really liked downstairs. I would love to stay there forever. Downstairs felt like Edward and poetry beating through my veins and everything I'd ever wanted but hadn't known I needed.

"Downstairs," he repeated against my mouth and I nodded, brutally bereft when he tore from me, his hand gripping mine almost painfully.

I lurched forward and we were walking _fast_.

I held onto his arm in case I tripped, my eyes locked on his profile.

It took a moment and a few steps, but his tight jaw relaxed and the lips that had just been against mine (because Edward Cullen fucking _kissed me_) turned up into the most beautiful smile I have ever seen.

* * *

For the rest of the night, it didn't matter that Carlisle had walked in on us kissing. It didn't matter that all throughout dinner he was shooting Edward indiscernible but not necessarily disapproving looks when he thought I wasn't noticing.

It didn't matter that I spilled water all over my jeans and it looked like I wet myself. (Maybe that one mattered a _little_.) Because no matter what happened next Edward _had_ kissed me. He had _wanted_ to kiss me.

And he spent all dinner looking at me like he wanted to again.

"So, Bella." Carlisle cleared his throat.

I looked away from Edward and twirled the pasta on my plate, still floating in some epic kiss-induced haze.

"Hrm?" I found Carlisle's friendly eyes and smiled. So far he'd been very polite and unassumingly funny—discussing trivial things like the weather and his job, but somehow always bringing the topic back around to me.

Usually I hated talking about myself, but there was something about Carlisle that eased me of my insecurity—he listened so intently and always had more questions to ask and comments to make. It felt engaging rather than an exposition of my life.

"Edward tells me you're quite the avid reader."

Somehow I managed to hold back the _"Edward talks about me?"_ that felt for my vocal chords. Instead, I shrugged. "Uhm, yeah. I… I really like to read."

"When you're finished Edward and I can show you my study, if you like." I straightened. "Not to brag, but I have a rather large library." The way he said it—musing and kind—sounded nothing like bragging.

"I'd _love_ to!"

I dropped my fork. I could eat later.

Edward chuckled and Carlisle followed suit. "I admire your enthusiasm," he teased me.

I blushed.

"Don't be embarrassed, Bella, please." He placed down his utensils and looked accusingly over at Edward. "If you haven't noticed, Edward has transported all of his favorites to his room."

Edward stared innocently back. I could almost imagine the halo over his head. I suppressed a giggled.

Edward spoke as if Carlisle hadn't even opened his mouth. "So do you want to go to see my dad's library now?" He smirked, and I was on my feet before he had a chance to get to his. "That would be a yes." He grinned and Carlisle got up as well.

"This way." He ushered us through the living room and up the stairs, and led the way down a hall Edward had disregarded during the tour—it was longer and there were three closed doors.

I spotted a large intricately carved cross where the hall stopped, hung perfectly straight over an empty vase. For some reason it chilled me—but then Edward slipped his hand into mine and I forgot it, smiling up into his content gaze.

Carlisle opened two large oak doors and my jaw dropped.

The room was _huge_. The first thing I saw were books—heaping piles of books and shelves lining every wall, interspersed with large paintings. There was a large desk in the middle of the room and behind it were steps leading to even _more_ shelves.

Library was definitely the right term to describe Carlisle's collection.

"_Wow_."

"Please, borrow anything you like, Bella," Carlisle told me. I could have hugged him, but figured that would be awkward and all. "You're welcome in my study whenever you like."

"Thank you." I beamed, and practically skipped to the nearest collection. I was just about to reverently pull The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck from the shelves when Carlisle's cell phone rang.

"Ah, sorry." He pulled the device from his pocket and checked the caller ID. He stared at it for a moment, his mood changing instantly—he was suddenly serious and his eyes were focused. "Hospital. I have to take this," he explained. "Excuse me."

Edward was smiling softly at me as Carlisle left the room, his voice instantly snuffed by the closing door. I ran my fingers along the bindings of the books and smiled back.

"I really like your dad," I said for lack of anything better.

Edward walked down the few steps onto the main floor, his hands stuffed into pockets.

During dinner he rolled up his sleeves to eat, and now the cuffs were wrinkled and in disarray. It was adorable. "He likes you too."

I flushed with happiness and said nothing in response, a bit overcome for a few moments. "So, it's just you two?" I hadn't meant it as anything—just as a confirmation. As far as I could tell and everyone had told me, Edward had no siblings, blood or not, and Carlisle was a bachelor.

But Edward's crooked smile faltered until his face was slack; his eyes dropped as the emotion leeched from those expressive orbs, replaced by black emptiness. The easy-going air, in an instant, was charged with something terrible.

I took a step forward and reached for him, but my hand brushed over a manila folder that was resting precariously on Carlisle's desk. Instead I scurried to catch it before it fell.

There are some moments in life when everything comes together. When everything makes sense for the first time. One moment you're blissfully and ignorantly in the dark, and the next the light is blinding and the pieces slide into place.

And once it's over, you look around and see everything from behind a bare lens. You look into the panicked eyes of the man you think you might just love and you just finally _get it_—you know the answers to the obvious questions and the ones you hadn't even thought to ask.

Like puzzle pieces finally finding their neighbors—like a huge decorated house and an empty vase and a haunted beautiful man.

The folder fell and I did with it. Its contents slide out and the answers were there, in black and white.

_Esme Cullen_.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** All right. I lied. Here's the next chapter. I managed to write it out and get some work done. HOWEVER. I am not lying when I say the next one will take much longer. I have a newspaper issue that goes to print Tuesday night. So yeah.

**ALSO:** This chapter is angsty. It's the first of probably two chapters that will be full of angst. For real. I don't think there's anything funny about this chapter. BUT NEVER FRET. There is sunshine soon.

It makes me sad to think this fic might almost be over. :( I wrote it a lot faster than I had planned.

* * *

Edward was silent.

The car was moving, shadows and patches of light sliding over his rigid form.

I watched his blank guarded eyes and felt my heart break—like it had been breaking, over and over and over again with every passing quiet second.

His hand was lightly gripping the steering wheel and his other was draped over the gearshift. His button-down was open, revealing the white shirt underneath. I studied the curve of the stiff tendons in his arms, uncovered by cloth.

His jaw tightened and I memorized the beginnings of his beard, the five o'clock shadow darkening his features.

But mostly, I waited.

I waited for his pretenses to break, to even waver. I waited for him to explain what I unintentionally found.

I waited for him to explain the name _Esme Cullen_ and the words _catatonic_ and _depression_. I waited for him to acknowledge the fact that I had seen the picture clipped to those black and white pages. That I knew his mother had beautiful curly brown hair and a kind smile and I knew she was currently admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Seattle.

I waited for him to acknowledge that I _knew_ something about him. That one of his secrets was my secret now, and that even though he hadn't told me, I still held it close and fiercely to my heart.

But he didn't. I waited and he only drove.

And by the time he pulled over two houses down from mine, my insides were all screwed up and I couldn't breathe. My eyes stung with unshed tears that I pressed back with all my will.

And my heart physically _hurt_.

Because I knew something about Edward now—and not something silly and inconsequential like his favorite poem or his favorite book or how he made his bed or if he preferred Pepsi over coke. I knew a piece of his _soul_ and I wanted to hold him close and give him a piece of me.

But he didn't seem to want anything but to get me home and out of his sight.

He didn't even _look_ at me when he finally opened his mouth and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

And that was just… not _okay_.

"That's it?" I whispered, and he put the car in drive.

I looked away to discreetly wipe a tear that fell, unbidden and unwanted.

And because I was a masochist and because he was the only solid real thing in my world and because I was totally inescapably and painfully falling in love with him, I didn't reach for the door handle.

I couldn't. I couldn't open the door and walk out into the cool night and ignore his agony, even at the cost of mine.

"Please go home, Bella," he pleaded, and his voice was strained with effort and anguish and secrets and fear.

"Edward." I spoke his name to my lap and blindly reached for his hand, because I knew it was close.

I knew _he_ was close. I knew he was there somewhere, beneath his mask.

My fingers feathered over his knuckles and he flinched, but he didn't pull away and I felt warmth. I felt warmth in my chest and blood in my veins.

"What did you see?" he asked.

He sounded broken and angry and ripped apart.

"Is she your mother?" I whispered.

I heard his breath shake and had my answer.

Wet tears splashed against my jeans.

When he spoke, it was soft and calculated. "I think it's time for you to go. I'll see you tomorrow, Bella. Please."

But I couldn't, and the words blurted from between my lips, my palm trembling over his. "I want you to know that I'm here for you." I swallowed and my voice turned small. "If you want me, I'm here."

There was silence again and I couldn't take it. I couldn't take it and I pushed out of the car, stumbling out into the night without looking back.

* * *

I was numb.

I couldn't hear or taste or feel or see. I walked into school that morning without a wink of sleep and nothing but Edward's painful beauty and his harsh silence playing over and over again in my mind.

I wakingly dreamt of Esme Cullen's faded picture and all I knew about her written in ink.

But it was as if my senses were cut off, brutally disconnected from my body and soul.

I don't know how I made it to lunch, but I did. I turned over the apple in my hands and watched its shiny supple red flesh.

I ignored Angela's concerned glances and concentrated on the nourishment in my hands. I watched it spin and waited.

I was still waiting.

I was still waiting when he sat beside me, one of his extended knees resting against mine. I was still waiting when he gently placed his collection of Dickinson poems next to my tray, and I was still waiting when he tucked my disheveled hair carefully behind my ear.

But I wasn't numb anymore. I could feel my pain meeting his, and his touch awakened my senses, stirring me to life.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he breathed. "I want you."

I looked at him, finally—and he looked at me, his emerald eyes deep with remorse and framed by furrowed brows. His scruff was light but there again, and his hair was matted in places and mused in others, like he'd slept restlessly.

He touched my thigh and I cupped his cheek, scratching my palm on his growing beard. It tickled and was a little rough, but his lips found the heel of my hand and his eyes slipped closed and nothing else mattered except that he was here and he wanted me. He wanted me to be there for him.

"Sixteen thirty-seven," he told me, and his touch was a bit desperate as he held my hand to his face.

I pushed my tray away and opened the book to the right poem.

_Is it too late to touch you, Dear?_

_We this moment knew –_

_Love Marine and Love terrene –_

_Love celestial too –_

"I need you," he whispered. "I want you to come with me to Seattle this weekend."

And I leaned in; happy he couldn't see my tears. Happy he couldn't know how tight my chest was with sobs. I pressed my lips to his forehead and then the tip of his nose, and I caught his strangled breath when I kissed his mouth in a silent _yes_.

* * *

The rest of the week flew by in a haze. We didn't speak of his mother, or of Carlisle, and I didn't ask. I was a patient girl.

I felt answers on the horizon—and I felt content when Edward held me in our niche of the cafeteria. I felt like everything would be okay as long as he kissed me before we said goodbye for the day. I felt like if we could only pass scribbled notes of poetry in Biology and hold onto the little things that everything would work out.

It had to.

That's why I was smiling when I slipped into his Volvo Saturday morning. Charlie had already gone out fishing for the day and I apparently was going shopping in Port Angeles with Lauren Mallory.

Heh.

Edward looked nervous, but I only pecked his cheek with a lingering kiss as if we were going on a silly date and not… something else.

"Ready?"

"Buckled up," I confirmed with a metal _snap_.

We spent most of the trip in mutual silence, music filling the gap between us, and I didn't mind. Edward's hand was wrapped around mine and he grounded me like an anchor. It was only when the fairy to Edmunds loomed before us and we made our way out into the whipping wind outside that I began to feel sick with nerves.

I didn't know anything about where we were going or what exactly to expect.

I wasn't stupid; I was curious enough to use an internet search or two (more like countless searches and hours of research) on the term "catatonic depression" and I knew what it meant clinically.

I knew Esme Cullen was suffering. I knew she had suffered, intensely. But I didn't know why and suddenly, watching the sun raise in the sky and listening to the angry screaming sea below me, I felt like I needed to before walking into that room blind.

"I think we need to talk now, Edward." The request was low, but I knew he could hear it.

There was quiet, and I picked at a sticker on the railing, the wind gusting strong once and thrashing my hair from my neck.

I heard him say my name and then I felt him press against my back, his hands folding over mine and stilling their nervous ministrations.

"I don't deserve you," he murmured sadly, and I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him he was ridiculous and amazing as he kissed my neck reverently, his nose cold and his lips dry. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I should have just told you. I wanted to every day." His voice caught and his words were quick and wounded, like he was spewing out everything he had kept inside. "I'm just—Bella, I'm just a fucking coward."

"Don't say that," I whispered fiercely.

"Why not? I am," he shook his head and nuzzled into my neck. I closed my eyes to shut out the angry tears and to savor him. "You trusted me and I didn't do anything but string you along. I hurt you. I hurt the one person besides my parents who has given a shit about me my entire life."

"Stop it," I ordered breathlessly. I spun around in his arms, my hands reaching to hold his face still. His jade eyes were wet and shining and I took a moment to find him beneath his shame and agony, to rub soothingly at the thickening scruff on his jaw. "You were just afraid. I think I would have been afraid too, and I don't blame you for it."

"Ugh, god," he sniffed and looked between our pressed bodies, squeezing his eyes shut tight when I wiped away a collecting tear. "You should. This is why I'm a selfish prick."

"Edward, don't—" I protested, but he dipped his head down without preamble, and his lips were crushed against mine.

And I felt it—I felt his loneliness in that kiss, and his self-hatred and his desperation. I felt his possessiveness and his kindness. I felt every word he had ever promised me and every piece he was yearning to show.

And when he pulled away, his chest heaving against mine, I licked my lips and tasted his tears and his pain. I looked into his eyes and I saw Edward—without a film of omissions and half-truths separating us.

"My parents didn't want me." His words were rushed and rambled again. "I've never known them, not even as a child. They just left me at the steps of a damn hospital in Chicago the day I was born and Carlisle found me. He took care of me on his off time, even though he wasn't a pediatrician and worked in the ER. When I was ready to be sent to the orphanage he couldn't bear it and he adopted me.

"He had a wife." There, his voice broke, and I ran a hand through his hair. "Esme. She's sick. She was sick, and even though she loved me she wanted another child. And although they were trying to have their own, Carlisle wasn't always around; he was always at the hospital, and it depressed her. It didn't take long for Carlisle to notice something was wrong."

He looked down and I could tell that this was getting harder for him, that the words were clogging up with his tears. I pushed onto my tiptoes and kissed his trembling lips, and he pulled me closer, so tight I could hardly breathe.

"I was about six when she was diagnosed bipolar. She was sick, but she took medication for it. Carlisle would force her to, even though she didn't want it. She wanted to believe she was normal… and god, he loves her so much… but it was so… _hard_ for him and we moved to Forks when I graduated elementary school. Carlisle could be home more often and things seemed so _okay_… so _okay_ for awhile…"

He went still in my arms. "But then she had the miscarriage right before sophomore year. And she just… withered. It was like she died inside. She would spend hours not moving. She wouldn't respond to either of us. But other days she was fine. But the bad days just started to get _worse_ and then I found… the gun."

He sighed and closed his eyes.

"It was loaded. I found it in the laundry room that morning before school. I just knew. I knew because I'd been seeing it in her eyes for months. I couldn't leave it there."

He stopped and I knew he was thinking about that day. I knew he was reliving it.

"Carlisle didn't want anyone to know about Esme. And maybe… maybe he didn't want to believe she would kill herself, either. I lied for her and I let people believe what they wanted about me. It's not like I had any friends to begin with.

"But she did anyway. She found a way. I came home from therapy one afternoon and she had slit her wrists."

The tears were flowing freely down my cheeks. Edward was pale and his eyes were closed.

"Carlisle took her to Seattle after treating her at home. It broke him to do it, but he couldn't help her anymore and she needed the best psychiatric care. He visits her every day after work and normally we both stay over on weekends. We'll probably move there soon and Carlisle is taking psychiatry classes, so maybe he can care for her somehow one day. The doctors have diagnosed her with catatonic psychotic depression. Treatment helps but she regresses quickly. The electroshocks have only been temporary relief."

"Edward…" I choked out.

"I love my mom, Bella," he said simply. "I've only ever wanted to protect her."

* * *

So, I researched the hell out of this. Hopefully my research is right.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Hello again. XD

So this chapter is dedicated to all the lovely mods at lion_lamb on livejournal. Every. Single. Word. Specifically Kristen and Steph though (again), because not only are they ~fierce~ but they also fight over the ownership of this fic and it inspires me to deliver. Maybe I do play favorites.

* * *

I felt angry as we entered Seattle.

Our clasped hands rested between us. The traffic was light and Edward's eyes were still red with tears.

The static smell of smog and coming rain teased my lungs. I stared at my worn shell-shocked expression in the rearview mirror and blinked, surprised to see a crystal drop roll to the corner of my lips.

I had never been angrier in my entire life, and it scared me. The rage flared up and filled the emptiness in my heart and burned my chest and tore my soul.

I squeezed Edward's hand and he brought it to rest over his heart.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against cool glass.

I was angry with myself for not being able to take this pain away from Edward, as if I had thought I could all along.

I was angry at the whole fucking world and whoever had created it and whoever had thought doing something so horrible to someone so wonderful was okay and fair, because it wasn't okay and it wasn't fair.

I was angry at Carlisle for letting Edward carry something so heavy on his shoulders. I was absolutely livid Edward had been allowed to take the brunt and the ridicule and the loneliness.

But mostly I could only feel the desolation, the misery. Mostly I watched the passing scenery—the little coffee shops and business buildings and walking people living their own lives and suffering their own tragedies—and I thought about every word Edward had uttered less than an hour before.

It weighed down my eyelids, but it only strengthened my resolve. It only amplified the ardor I felt for him, the passion electrifying my blood.

Because I loved Edward Cullen.

It wasn't an adolescent stupid silly passing crush. It wasn't an infatuation—it wasn't a flash of lust that faded with time. I wasn't under any juvenile hormonal spell.

I loved the careful way he kissed me, and the rough way he held me. I loved the imperfection of his thick brows and the near-painful scratch of his beard. I loved his selflessness and his kindness. I loved how unassumingly, gently and intelligently he spun his words.

I could spend an eternity explaining why I love Edward, but I don't want to.

All I want to do is love him. All I wanted to do, in that moment, speeding into the bustling city, was to love him.

I barely processed that we had stopped some time after, and I turned to look at him when I had.

His seat belt was unbuckled and pulled back, and he was staring at the dashboard with a frown, his breath deep and calculated.

I reached for him, because he looked so lost in his thoughts and so tired and weary and stripped of every wall he had broken down for me. He looked vulnerable and broken, his eyes shining in the reflective grey skies.

I touched his cheek with the tips of my fingers, running my nails lightly down over his jaw.

"I'm so sorry, Edward," I spoke slowly, feeling the syllables leave my tongue. "I know it can't mean much, but I'm so sorry you've had to suffer so much. I can't imagine…" I paused to compose myself, to flatten the lump in my throat and blink away the hot searing tears. This was no place for my pain. "For what it's worth, I'm… I want to… I want you to know I'm here. Always. For you. I want you to know you can share this with me and I want you to."

He nodded fluidly and turned into my touch, his verdant irises sliding to find my eyes. My fingers rested over his lips and he looked like he might say something when his lids narrowed, but instead he grabbed my waist and pulled me to him.

The gearshift dug into my hip and he was holding me so tight I thought I might bruise, but it was okay. I clutched at him with the same fierceness, burying my face into the crook of his neck.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, and I knew he wasn't talking about my body.

I kissed the fading line of his scruff and his thrumming pulse, weaving my hands through his hair.

His shoulders heaved with effort and shook and I knew he was holding in sobs. I pressed my lips beside his ear and stroked his hair, murmuring that it was okay and that he was strong and amazing and that I was there, but he only held me tighter as if I were fighting his embrace.

He pulled back and muffled my whispered everythings with his mouth, and the kiss was tormented and scared and I kissed him back with all the love and solidity I had in my body, in my soul.

Our cheeks were wet and I couldn't tell if the tears were his or mine. I couldn't see anything but the sea-green color of his eyes when he pulled away; I couldn't feel anything but his hand grasping the back of my neck like a lifeline.

I couldn't hear anything but the fervent hoarse "_thank you_" he gasped out.

* * *

Edward's hand was clasped so tight around mine that his fingers were trembling. As we made our way down the psych ward I huddled close to him, my cheek brushing his shoulder with every step.

I heard murmuring and cries and the changeless hum of machines, the padding of white shoes on hard linoleum floors.

And I was scared.

Edward was stopping at a large heavy blue door all too soon and glancing down at me wordlessly.

Somehow no amount of explanation or talking had me ready for this moment. There was nothing else to do but open the door, and I was still terrified.

His face altered as I looked at him. I saw the sadness leave the strained wrinkles around his eyes, and strength straightened his spine. He was bracing himself, hardening himself, and it killed me to watch as he retreated back into the depths of his mind.

And then he was pushing through the door and taking me with him.

Esme was alone.

The window was open, the light breeze ruffling the curtains. There were rugs on the floor, fluffy yellow and cyan rugs and even a plush comforter lining the bed.

She was sitting, unnaturally still and looking off into a corner. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap and her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. She was too thin and too frail, but she was still beautiful despite her limp hair and sunken cheeks.

I held my breath and fought the urge to grasp at Edward's hand when he let me go. He was walking to her, his eyes full of more love and compassion than I ever thought possible.

"Hey, mom," he said softly. Esme didn't look up as Edward brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead.

She hardly blinked when Edward sat on the corner of her bed with a watery smile.

I took a step forward to see her better, and I sucked in breath when her eyes moved to rest on her son, the white and brown orbs shining like marble.

"Edward?" she whispered, and her voice cracked with confusion.

"Yeah mom, it's me." Edward nodded, his jaw tight against tears.

"Thank god you're here," she muttered, and her wrist twitched up as if to reach for him… but it only jerked once more and stilled there, perfectly inanimate, inhumanly and disturbing frozen. "The baby's been crying and she won't stop."

Edward squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, reaching for her upturned hand and taking it firmly in his own. "She had ECTs this morning," he explained thickly, under his breath. "She's just confused right now. Sometimes she hears voices."

He extended out his arm for me and beckoned me closer and I felt my legs moving to his coiled form. I sat beside him carefully, unable to look away from the woman in front of me.

Edward placed his touch on my shoulder and I leaned instinctively into his side, finding something comforting and grounding in his warmth.

"Mom, this is Bella," he said carefully.

"It's nice to meet you," I said through trembling lips.

She looked at me blankly; she saw right through me. My throat convulsed and closed on a sob and I reached out my hand to touch her knee. Her body was warm but I couldn't see her in those wide thoughtless eyes.

"I'm confused," she said after a beat. "Do you hear my baby?"

* * *

I was tired of the pervading silence.

I was sick from Edward's stoic expression and the way it crumpled when he thought I wasn't looking.

I was bleeding inside. I felt as if someone had taken a knife to my heart and split it open. I felt like there was nothing I could do and no reprieve I could offer beside myself, and what good could insecure little Bella Swan be to someone so thoughtful and selfless?

What could I do for Edward to lessen this burden? What could I do besides bore him with my favorite books and my inconsequential life and the nothingness of my existence?

What could I _do_?

What could I _say_?

How do you react to someone who has just opened up their nightmares, their thoughts and delicate memories, and the dark corners of their life to you?

The trip back to Forks felt longer than the five hours it took. By the time Edward was pulling over by my house the sky was dark with twilight and the crickets were singing ominously, randomly and out of tune.

I hated the silence, but I wasn't sure how to break it. I looked at Edward and tried to discern what he needed from me, as if the image of his white knuckles around the steering wheel and his blank face could tell me anything.

"Bella," he said suddenly and angled to face me. His fingers uncurled from the car and he spoke to the console. There was no emotion in his voice. "If this is too much for you… If this isn't something you want to deal with because of me, I'd understand."

He blinked, and I saw it—I saw the disquiet in his eyes, the thin line of chance he was walking on. Edward was terrified.

And I was horrified. I was horrified at myself and what he thought my anxious quiet had meant.

"Edward, _no_," I hissed, and I grabbed for him, because suddenly my doubtfulness snapped and deteriorated into nothing.

I pulled him forward, sighing and relaxing muscles I hadn't known were tense when he pulled me forward too, resting his heavy head onto my shoulder.

"Edward, there is nothing about you… there is nothing you could do or say that would push me away from you," I whispered.

His hands slid up from my back and tangled deep into my hair, clutching at it painfully. Lips touched my jaw and I felt the dampness of his hot tears against my cheek. "Good," he murmured fiercely, brokenly. "I don't think I could let you go."

His breath was labored and I cupped his face, massaging his scruff and skin and soaking in his tears with my fingerprints. "Don't let me go," I pleaded, and he sucked my bottom lip between his, his urgent kiss invading my mouth.

This kiss wasn't gentle. It was soothing or caring. I wrapped myself around him and fought to crawl into his lap, but he was too insistent and strong and suddenly half of his chest was crushing me, one of his hands groping my arcing body.

This was possessive. This was claiming. This was relief and desire and all those rushing hormones.

He moved to my neck and I opened my eyes to see stars beyond the window. He licked and sucked and bit, my skin burning from his beard and burning from his touch. I pulled at his hair and recorded his groans—my lashes fluttered closed, as if the sensations were so much I could only handle one at a time.

Later I would lie in bed and be enthralled at the memory of the way he held my hip, the way his tongue moved and the way he murmured my name, over and over and over.

Later I would rethink letting him pull away after the reckless dance of our bodies slowed into little slow touches and long kisses.

I would remember his rueful smile and close my eyes and tell myself I'd only have to wait until morning.

* * *

I wanted to include more Esme but to be completely honest it hurt me. :'( And I didn't want to get it wrong or hover over the angst more than absolutely necessary. Hopefully you guys liked it regardless. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Okay, this chapter is quite long. I think the longest yet. A lot of shit happens and it's all very dramatic, but it's also quite important. I don't know why I'm so nervous about posting this chapter, but I am?

Without further ado…

* * *

There was something about loving Edward Cullen that put a spring in my step.

The cloud-covered sun shone brighter, the accidental twisted ankle procured walking down the stairs stung less, and somehow Jessica Stanley's face didn't make me want to simultaneously punch her and vomit. (Actually, that last one was a lie.)

I practically skipped into school the following week, which wasn't the best idea for my poor coordination, but I got over it.

Plus it served for excellent fodder during lunch, when Edward and I would play Guess How the Hell Bella Got This Injury. (GHHBGTI for short.)

That was actually what Edward and I were playing Wednesday afternoon, my finger pointed proudly to the minor scrape on my elbow.

"Banged your arm on an opening door?" Edward ventured, his eyebrows askew in thought.

I shook my head and smiled.

He narrowed his gaze. "Did you trip _up_ the stairs?"

I narrowed mine, but since the rules were I couldn't talk, I kept my mouth shut. (That one was implemented just the other day. Edward said talking about Mr. Banner showering in great detail while he was trying to think was an unfair and downright dirty trick.)

He smirked, eyes flashing. "You fell out of your car this morning in the parking lot."

My mouth opened in an 'o' and I glared. Really really hard. "It doesn't count if you _saw_ it happen!"

"I didn't see it happen."

"You are _such_ a _liar_."

"Pay up, sweetheart." He grinned all smug and hot and leaned over for his prize.

Ugh. Edward Cullen.

"I refuse." I crossed my arms and turned back to the table, a small smile playing at my lips.

"It's not like you don't want to," he said, and his voice was kind of low and hypnotizing. And he felt really good when he wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling into my hair.

"I'm not going to kiss you, Edward," I protested, making an effort to stay still and unmoving. And not ravish him.

"I'll kiss _you_…" he promised and I shivered slightly.

The entire situation was sort of overexciting me. We hadn't really had the chance to _kiss_ since that day in Seattle and Edward was becoming like a drug to me. A very addictive hormone-inducing drug.

"Yes." My voice cracked. "You will kiss my injured elbow, as the rules state."

He chuckled and his breath moved wisps of hair on my neck. Cue more involuntary shivering. "How about we trade?"

Yes. Yes please.

"Okay, that's fair." I tried to sound begrudging.

I cleared my throat and twisted towards him, my face all about serious business. I lifted my elbow as he pulled back and pointed.

For the past few days Edward had always chastely pressed his closed mouth over all my cuts and bruises. And whenever he won, which was only once, I would innocently kiss his cheek.

This time Edward hesitated, contemplating something before wrapping his fingers around my wrist. I was both afraid and excited by the dark unwavering look in his eyes.

He unfolded my arm and almost smirked. And instead of playing by the rules, he brushed his lips over the inside of my elbow lightly, and then again with an open mouth.

I felt a jolt that turned warm.

He released me and he was most definitely smirking now. "Your turn."

I fought the impulse to jump on him and demand privacy immediately.

I blinked once in highly aroused shock and did the next best thing: I took my turn.

My turn involved leaning forward and sliding my hands up the rough fabric of jeans covering his thighs, all the way to his hips. And then hovering over his suddenly parted mouth for a moment and breathing in his shallowing breath.

And then, of course, I kissed the corner of his fading smile, softly licking the turning point of his lips.

And then I pulled away, turned around, and began to eat my lunch.

Edward didn't move for a full thirty seconds and if I hadn't felt so victorious I might have been worried.

And I probably should have been worried when Edward's chair screeched back, one of his hands grabbing mine and the other scooping up our bags, but I was only excited.

I was only a bundle of oversensitive nerves when he promptly dragged me out of the lunchroom with the most determined sexy expression I have ever seen. Ever.

"Where are we going?" I wanted to sound annoyed, but actually I didn't give a flying fuck where we were going. As long as it was alone and there wasn't a lot of talking involved.

That mystery was quickly solved when Edward opened up the door to the music room, slammed it behind us, pushed me against the wall and said, "I want my turn again."

Well okay.

He dropped our things with a thud and I just about died, mostly because his knee bent and parted my legs and his hands were everywhere and his mouth was opened to mine.

I grabbed his shoulders and his arms wrapped all the way around my waist, tugging me tight against him. I couldn't think or speak or even breathe—I could only succumb to his fevered kiss.

I could only feel slightly embarrassed by the long moan that escaped me when one of his hands snaked over my backside and slid my pliable weakening form up his thigh. And I certainly felt that in places I hadn't ever before, and once we were aligned just right I certainly felt all of him, too.

"Tell me this is okay," he ground out, moving to my neck.

This was definitely okay. This was pretty much what my dreams were made of.

"More than," I gasped out.

For one blinding deafening moment as Edward playfully growled and bit my throat, I was totally and completely okay with losing my virtue against the music room wall.

Then he had to go and ruin it.

"I want to take you out Friday," he confessed through labored breaths.

I started to panic. "Like in public?" I squeaked.

"Like in public," he repeated.

This was a problem. Like In Public meant that Charlie was going to find out, or I would have to tell him, and I liked my boyfriend alive, thank you very much.

"But my dad," I protested, and instantly felt guilty about it.

I hated lying to Charlie. I hated keeping Edward a secret. I hated the crossroads I was standing at between the two most important men in my life. For weeks I had been concocting fibs about Jessica and Mike and Lauren and it was tiring and it made me feel like absolute shit.

Like the scum that stuck to the scum on the bottom of my shoe.

And I hated that Edward wanted to take me out on a date, and despite how horrible I felt lying to my dad, I knew I couldn't tell him the truth.

I knew he would fight me tooth and nail and never approve. And I was afraid he'd take me away from Edward somehow. Or worse, send me back to Renée.

In my mind, the only option was telling Charlie the _whole_ truth, but that was up to Edward.

And I wouldn't ask that of him.

"We'll tell him," he decided. It didn't escape my notice that his solution was very vague.

Also, about a million ringing red bells went off in my head. "_I'll_ tell him," I argued. Again, I preferred Edward _alive_.

Edward pulled away, his grip on me loosening. I really didn't like this conversation. "It'll look better if we both told him."

"_Yes_, but you wouldn't look better _dead_." I poked his chest. "Which is exactly what you would be right after the words 'Hello, I'm Edward Cullen and I've been ravishing your daughter in the music room lately and now I want to date her' come out of your mouth."

"Don't be ridiculous, Bella." His words stung a little. "I wouldn't say _that_."

"Edward…" I sighed and pushed away from him. Suddenly his touch wasn't comforting and I needed some space. My feet dropped to the floor and I crossed my arms, staring at ground. "It doesn't matter what you say."

"What's that mean?" Great, now he was on the defensive.

"You _know_ what I mean," I said intentionally soft, sneaking a glance up at him.

His hand was working through his hair and he looked angry and frustrated.

I chewed at my bottom lip. "I just don't want him to come between us," I whispered. "And I know he would try, because he cares about me and he thinks…"

I flinched when Edward moved too fast for his bag. "Yeah, he thinks what everyone else fucking thinks about me. I get it."

Ouch.

I reached for him, but he was already slipping from me. He was already out the door and stalking down the hall when the bell rang.

I went after him, forsaking my things and pushing through the sea of students coming from the cafeteria. I felt lost, jostled by the growing crowd. I could see his head of bronze hair and rigid shoulders, but I couldn't call out his name past the lump in my throat.

I squeezed and shifted and finally had enough space to make it through the oncoming bodies, but just when I thought I was free, I collided straight into a broad chest and stumbled back.

"Well look who it is." Mike was grinning cruelly down at me, his friend Tyler smirking beside him. "Come to your senses yet?"

All the annoyance I had felt towards everyone in the damn school surged up, all the ire I had stored for just the fucking universe in general simmered below the surface. "Shut the fuck up, Mike," I snapped, and tried to move around him.

He grabbed my arm, immobilizing me, and I was shaking so hard from nerves and the mantra of _I need to find Edward_ playing in my mind that I did nothing but try to jerk away like a frightened animal when I should have gauged his eyes out.

His grip tightened. "C'mon, Bella. Hang out with us. _I'll_ show you a good time."

"_Let. Me. Go,_" I hissed through clenched teeth. My jaw was locked so tight I felt a headache blossoming in my temples. People like _them_ were the reason Edward was so lonely. People like _them_ were the reason he was treated like a leper.

Mike just threw his head back and laughed, Tyler joining in. And I saw red. I'd read the expression in books and heard it my entire life, but it was until that moment I realized it was literal.

My vision narrowed and reddened and I couldn't control myself; I couldn't stop myself from raising my arms and pushing him viciously.

He wasn't expecting it and stumbled back, tugging roughly at me. I lurched forward an inch but he let go. My arm ached but I could hardly feel it.

"_Don't_ touch me," I ordered. My nails sliced into my palms.

Mike wasn't laughing anymore. "Or what? You'll sic your psycho boyfriend on me? You think I'm afraid of that asshole?"

I lunged for him, but a thick arm wrapped around my waist, restraining me. My teeth gnashed together and for one moment Mike actually looked afraid of me.

"Cut the shit, Newton," said a voice in back of me. That strong arm easily pulled me behind him despite my struggles, one heavy hand squeezing my shoulder. "Learn the meaning of _no_ and keep your cock in your pants, got it?"

"Dude," Mike protested.

"Shut the fuck up." I could finally concentrate enough to realize the person connected to the hand was Emmett McCarty, alpha male/resident jock/captain of every sports team at school. "We got a game tonight and if Cullen saw you touching his chick you wouldn't have an eye."

Whatever soft feelings I was beginning to have for Emmett were dashed. Of _course_ this wasn't out of the goodness of his heart.

I stepped from under his arm like he burned me, and his disgusted expression turned to me, his chiseled features softening. He looked speculative and unsure, a stray brown curl touching his forehead.

"Whatever," Mike muttered. "She's just a fucking slut anyway."

Emmett swerved around and the next thing I knew Mike was on the ground.

And Edward's fist was colliding with his face. Over and over and over again, making sickening packed crunching noises. And Mike was screaming and gurgling and blindly clawing and punching at him and there was blood erupting from his noise.

I yelled Edward's name and stepped forward, because I was stupid and asking to get hurt.

Emmett was closer and stronger and clearly more able to get in the middle of it without a concussion—and he did, wrestling back Edward's arms and dragging him off Mike's struggling form.

He looked completely unhinged. His nostrils were flaring and his cheek was red with a coming bruise. The green of his eyes were gleaming with violence, his lips a thin scary line.

And Emmett (_Emmett_, who looked like he could bench-press three of me, no sweat) was having trouble holding him back. "Dude, _calm down_!"

"Edward, _stop it_!" I screamed.

Mike was rising to his feet and touching his bleeding nose, his lips in a painful sneer. "You should keep him on a leash," he spat at me and turned hateful eyes on Edward. "Lord knows his _mother_ isn't around to do it."

I'm not sure fifty Emmetts could have held Edward back.

He barreled into Mike and they both hit the floor with a thud that echoed into the hall. The crowd that had gathered stepped back and Emmett and I rushed forward. I heard him yelling at Tyler for help, and I was sure his large shoulder pushed me roughly to the side purposely.

I fell onto the floor, my wrist twisting painfully on impact. A gasp left me; tears pricked my eyes. I held my arm tenderly to my stomach and watched as Emmett and Tyler extracted Edward from Mike again with difficulty.

Emmett all but threw him away from the scene, one hand splayed over his chest. I couldn't hear him over the crowd's spike of excited chatter, but Edward grew stoic and turned to the nearest window without a word.

Was it over?

I struggled to stand up and that accomplished, rushed over to Edward's side, ignoring Emmett's hasty apologetic "did I hurt you?"

"Are you okay?" I asked breathlessly.

Edward was staring at the windowsill, his chest heaving. I cupped his jaw with my good hand and urged him to face me.

He looked shocked and weary and bruised.

I threw my arms around his neck, ignoring the pain it caused. I held him tight and willed him to respond—some way, any way—and was rewarded when his hands lifted to lightly hold my waist.

"How did he know?" I strangled out.

"He doesn't," Edward forced out. "He thinks she left us because of what I did."

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, feeling stupid. Feeling as ridiculous as he had called me, because I had never asked. Not once, all week, had I ever asked anything more about Esme, because I was a selfish scared little girl and afraid to broach the topic before he did.

He needed me to, more than I had needed his permission, and I saw that now. There was so much I didn't know and so much he held from me.

"I'm sorry. Let's tell my dad," I promised, and my voice was cracking with unshed tears.

Because this wasn't about that and I knew it.

I just still didn't know what to say.

"I don't think we have a choice anymore," he responded tightly.

That was when I heard the principal's enraged voice behind me screaming, "What in _God's name_ is going on here?"

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** This chapter was… half-fun and half-cathartic to write, haha. Fun because of Emmett and cathartic because… well, you'll see.

I've also been thinking of writing an Edward or a Carlisle POV bit (probably Edward), but I think I'd post it after the fic is finished as an outtake or something.

* * *

Emmett's leg wouldn't stop jiggling.

It was making the table in front of us practically vibrate.

I stared at the wood and stray flyers littering the top, my arms crossed over my chest. My knees were pressed tight together for two reasons.

1.) The waiting room couch was small and Emmett was: a. huge, and b. intent on taking up as much space as possible, and

2.) I was trying not to shake too noticeably.

Edward was still in the principal's office. I was pretty sure Mike was at the nurse. Ha. Tyler had claimed no involvement and walked away. Prick.

I sighed and sunk deeper into the cushions. (Which was difficult, since they were as hard as rocks.) I wondered when my life had started to suck so badly, but I knew the answer.

Right around the time Mike Newton decided to be a dickhead.

"Hey, you cold?"

I glanced over at Emmett's concerned face, a bit surprised at his interest. And well, to be honest, his concern. And also a bit peeved with myself for not being able to keep my nerves under control.

"No," I grumbled.

He grinned suddenly, and it was a quite charming grin. All pearly whites and friendliness. "You're shaking like a leaf, Swan." Then he shed his varsity jacket for… one of the many sports he played and tossed it into my lap without another word.

I just sort of blinked dumbly at it. "Why… why are you being nice to me?" I all but whispered.

"Is it a crime to be nice?" He shrugged and leaned forward on his knees.

I stared at the back of his head, my mouth open in shock. "No," I answered. "No one's really been that nice to me, that's all."

Emmett fell back beside me, his head lolling over the top of the couch, his eyes closed. "Not everyone at this school is a major asshole. Edward and I used to be friends." He let out a deep breath, his brows furrowing momentarily. "After all that shit happened with the gun he just stopped talking to me. But I know he's not a bad guy."

_What_?

Edward had said he _had_ no friends. He had never so much as looked in Emmett's direction the entire time I'd known him.

Emmett opened one golden eye and peeked at me. "Don't look so shocked, babe. Now put on the jacket or give it back. 'Cause now _I'm_ cold."

I was still gaping at Emmett when the worst moment in the history of my life happened.

My father rushed into the room.

"Bella." He let out a relieved sigh at the sight of me, the parental panic draining from his face. "Are you okay?"

I stood up suddenly, ignoring the shooting pain in my wrist. In my uninjured hand I was clutching Emmett's jacket. "Dad, I'm okay," I said automatically.

I studied his worried trusting face and for a moment I thought everything would be fine. I loved my dad. And he loved me. If he knew I loved Edward, maybe he would give him a chance.

Maybe?

The door to the office opened and the man in question stepped out, his shoulders hunched and his lips turned down.

Principal Becker huffed behind him and followed, holding out his hand to Charlie with a frown. "I'm sorry you had to come down here, Chief Swan," he apologized.

I wanted to wrench the glasses off of his face and shove them up his hairy nostrils.

Edward stared at me steadily from beneath lowered lashes. I wanted to run to his side. I wanted to touch the blue spreading bruise on his cheek and kiss it better.

I wanted to tell him I loved him and I messed up and I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know every detail of his life, of Esme's, of Carlisle's, everything that had caused him pain and had made him smile. I wanted to let him know I was willing to do everything he asked of me, including the things he couldn't voice.

I wanted to help him. I wanted to share his burden just as selflessly as he took it on himself.

But I couldn't. Not yet. Not when Charlie was right there. Not when he still didn't _understand_. And I was determined to make him understand.

"I want to know what happened and why my daughter was involved," Charlie barked out, sending a suspicious glare in Edward's direction.

"Of course. Let's take this into my office," the principal said.

The moment of reckoning.

Carlisle walked briskly through the door still in hospital scrubs, his breath fast. "What happened?" he demanded, striding to Edward's side.

His hand clasped Edward's shoulder, and absentmindedly he shook hands with my dad and the principal.

"We were just getting to that," Becker stated.

I took the opportunity to slip on Emmett's extra large jacket and stretch my hands through the openings. There was a faint bruise on my bare arm, and I didn't want to see Charlie's face if he discovered it.

"Thanks," I whispered sidelong to Emmett.

He stood up beside me and sighed. "This better not take long. It's the playoffs."

* * *

Somehow I managed to be wedged between Charlie and Edward in the principal's office.

How ironic.

Carlisle was on the other side of Edward and next to him was Emmett. I noted the small exchange of silent pleasantries they exchanged: Emmett nodded his head and Carlisle smiled thinly.

Yeah, they knew each other.

My gaze turned to Edward, but he was staring too intently at the principal's nameplate.

"Now," Becker started as he sat, "I've just spoken to Edward. According to _his_ story, he attacked Michael Newton on behalf of Isabella."

"Yeah," Emmett scoffed, "because Newton was being a _dick_."

"Language, Mr. McCarty," the principal snapped, and his voice seemed to boom. I flinched. No wonder he was a principal.

Emmett didn't seem to be intimidated. He shrugged. "Whatever. Just the truth."

"What was the Newton boy saying?" my dad inquired, leaning over to narrow his eyes at Emmett.

"He called Bella a slut and wouldn't leave her alone!" His large hands flew up and then slapped back into his lap. "Fucking prick. He deserved that shit. Nice job, man."

He held out a fist over Carlisle for Edward to pound. Despite the circumstances, I held in a laugh. It was even more difficult to hold in when Edward slowly and hesitantly responded, as if he'd never seen nor done the action before.

"Language!" the principal warned. He was starting to look like a very ripe tomato. "Is this true, Miss Swan?"

I did _not_ want to be on the spot, but suddenly all eyes were on me. "Yeah, he uhm—he grabbed me. Emmett came by and told him to stop and uhm—that's when he called me a slut and Edward must have heard it…"

"Michael told me you also pushed him." Becker raised an eyebrow, his hands folding over his desk. "And Mr. McCarty was holding you back from attacking him."

Shit. "Well, I… he was saying… things."

The principal inclined his head, his double chin folding against his neck. Ew.

"He was saying things about Edward and he was coming onto me," I clarified. My gaze dropped down to the sleeves of Emmett's jacket. I picked nervously at a lose thread.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlie swivel his body around to face me.

Don't cry, don't cry; please don't cry, I begged myself. Stay strong.

"I thought the Newton boy was your friend?" he asked cautiously.

I bit my lip to hold back frightened tears and shook my head vehemently. "No, he's not. I've been lying to you." My voice was blocked for a moment by a sob, and I raised my gaze to meet my dad's. "I was afraid how you would react. I'm—Edward and I…"

"Chief Swan." Edward's voice startled me. It was smooth and calm, totally and completely collected. I jerked my gaze over to him. He was staring straight into my father's confused eyes, his hands braced on each armrest. "This is my fault. I'm sorry. I've been the reason your daughter has been lying to you."

_No_! "This is _not_ Edward's fault!" I denied. I gripped the jacket over Charlie's wrist and tugged his attention back to me. "This is _my_ fault. I should have had more faith in you. I should have thought I could explain, but dad… Edward isn't a bad person. He's not anything you think he is! There's just so much you don't know…"

My father was looking at me like I had sprouted another head and then proceeded to tell him that zombies were attacking.

Basically, he looked simultaneously horrified and astonished.

"Charlie, I think for the sake of our kids, we need to talk."

I glanced over my shoulder. Carlisle's hand was resting on Edward's stiff shoulder, his eyes speaking more volumes than I ever thought possible. For days I had harbored anger towards this man. I had wanted the scream and yell and demand to know how he could put so much responsibility on the son he supposedly cared about.

But now I saw something in his strong persuasive gaze. I saw unconditional kindness and the deep dark circles below his tired eyes. I saw the same broken heart that I witnessed in Edward… and I felt the anger drain out of me.

Because I knew that Carlisle was a good man no matter what he'd done, and he deserved the same benefit of the doubt I'd given Edward.

"Perhaps we should have told you the truth to begin with."

I had never seen a grown man look so lost.

His hand reached to render his perfectly slicked hair a mess, and I recognized the nervous tick from Edward.

"I didn't even know the truth, not for awhile… I was under the same miscomprehension as you all, and by the time I had realized… it was too late, or so I decided… and I shouldn't have."

"What the hell?" Emmett muttered.

My eyes immediately went to Edward, but his gaze was nowhere and everywhere all at once—stricken into space, and he looked terrified at what he saw there.

"Dad, don't," he said simply.

"My wife is sick," he admitted wearily. "She didn't leave us like you've all assumed. She's in the hospital. Edward had that gun because…"

"Dad…" Edward whispered, pleading.

"…because Esme was going to kill herself, and Edward didn't know what else to do but take it the morning he found it."

Emmett's jaw dropped and Edward leaned over, his crumpling face falling into his hands.

I struggled to get closer, inclining my chair. One of my palms rubbed his trembling back and the other pushed away his wild hair. The edges of his face were red; his eyes squeezed shut. I pulled him into my arms, my cheek against his shoulder. He was burning with the effort to keep quiet, and his silence was deafening.

"I'm so sorry, Edward," Carlisle choked out. I locked eyes with his, stunned by the crystal drops of tears in his eyes. His hand clutched Edward's opposite shoulder and for a moment the body I was holding heaved and shuddered. "I'm so sorry. All I could think about was her for so long. I've been a horrible father."

I crushed my lashes to my cheeks and rocked him, turning my nose into the sweating nape of his neck. My tears soaked into his skin.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** So, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but I have this irrational superstition of the number thirteen and I just needed to get a fourteenth chapter up ASAP or else.

Or else what? IDK, but I didn't want to find out. I said this was irrational.

* * *

That night I couldn't sleep.

I stared at my ceiling, my covers up to my neck, and I didn't sleep.

I could hear Charlie restlessly banging around in the kitchen downstairs, the soft hum of late night/early morning infomercials playing from the living room.

He was probably hungry; we hadn't eaten anything all evening.

We spent the entire time sitting on opposite sides of the couch and hardly speaking, until I couldn't take it and went to bed.

I kept my cell phone on and resting against my stomach, in case Edward called. We never spoke on the phone before, but I knew he had my number. I was hesitant to call him and I knew I shouldn't have been, no matter what the clock said.

For the tenth time I maneuvered under the covers; my eyes watered at the glare of the cell light, but I scrolled through my contacts and stared at the pixels of his name.

I closed my eyes, told myself to grow up, and pressed send.

The ringing blared in my ear. I counted each one, praying he would answer.

He didn't. The call went to his voicemail, and I shivered at the sound of his voice.

"_Hey, this is Edward. Leave a message_."

Followed by the beep.

"Hey… it's me." I paused to lick my dry lips. In the small space, the air was turning hot and there wasn't a lot of oxygen. "I mean, it's Bella. I wanted to call and… see how you were. Maybe talk about what happened today…" I sighed and closed my eyes, burying my face into my pillow and twisting onto my stomach. "I'm sorry for the weird call, I just wanted to… I guess I just needed to hear your voice. Charlie's been really quiet… but he doesn't seem mad, so that's good… Are you okay? Did you talk to Carlisle anymore? Not that… it's personal, I know. You don't have to answer that. But I want to know." I exhaled. I felt the emotion rushing over me, the aftermath of the entire day spilling over the sides. I couldn't dam it up, and my voice was raspy from the effort. "I'm sorry, Edward. I wish you were here. I haven't even mentioned your mom or… just anything all week. You deserve so much better than that. I was just so afraid. I don't even have an excuse… but you're so… so personal and I just wasn't sure what I _could_ ask you and I didn't want to say anything wrong."

There was no one to answer me, but I paused anyway.

"Please forgive me. I… care about you. So much."

I pulled the phone away and ended the call just in time to muffle my sob against the pillow. I clutched at it as the next heave assaulted my lungs, and I twisted and folded my legs up, pressing my thighs against my shuddering torso.

I cried out everything: my worries, my insecurities, my hopes and fears. I cried for Edward and Esme and Carlisle. I cried for my dad. I cried out the last turbulent stormy months of my life until there was nothing left to cry about.

I don't know how long I cried, but eventually the tears abated and I stared off into the shadows on my wall. I studied their dips and turns. I watched the phantom leaves on the tree outside my window sway in the nightly wind.

It was around three in the morning that I felt my phone vibrate next to my head.

I grabbed it and answered, my voice cracking on an urgent "hello?"

"Bella," he breathed.

"Edward," I sighed, "are you okay?" My voice was hoarse; my throat ached. I probably sounded an inch from death.

"I'm fine." He said the words quickly, not wanting to mull over the specifics. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I sort of lied.

"I just listened to your message."

"Oh." I deflated. I knew it was cowardly, but I didn't want Edward to address it because I afraid of his reaction. I didn't want him to hate me, and as ludicrous as that sounded, it felt like a very real possibility.

"Bella…" he trailed off. He sounded tired, like my confession had wearied him.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't mean to dump that on you. I shouldn't have. It was stupid."

"Bella, stop it," he said. "Let me speak."

I closed my mouth and felt my cheeks heat with shame. I was being ridiculous, and the worst part was I wasn't clear why. I didn't know what he wanted from me.

"First of all, don't be sorry and don't say that it was stupid." He exhaled and paused. I wanted to see his face to gauge his reaction better. "You were right. I haven't been… available."

Now that he was agreeing with me, I felt the urge to argue my own defense. He'd gone out of his way and against his every instinct to show me the center of his entire world. How more available could he have made himself?

"I told you… I _showed_ you my mom, but I didn't open any avenues for you to feel comfortable asking anything… I'm not sure I wanted you to." I felt a pang. "It was just… easier," he explained, grudgingly. "It's not that I didn't want you to know, Bella. I just didn't want to talk about it. But… I guess I did. I do. Otherwise I wouldn't have blown up at you like that." He scoffed. "I wouldn't have kicked Newton's ass if it really wasn't bothering me."

I closed my eyes and rested back into the plush mattress, listening to his voice.

"I am sorry, Bella. For today. For everything."

"So am I," I whispered, "but I don't think you should be the one apologizing."

"Silly girl," he muttered, teasingly. I felt a smile creeping over my lips; everything really was going to be fine. "What are you doing right now?"

I blushed. "Uhm, just lying in bed."

"Under the covers?"

I blushed harder. "Yes. What are _you_ doing?"

"About the same." I could hear the smirk in his voice. My imagination ran rampant.

I laughed nervously, but sobered quickly. I had to at least try. "Edward?"

His answer was nothing but a soft throaty "hrm?" It sort of did things to me.

"How did things go with your dad?"

"Let's talk about that tomorrow, okay?" he murmured. "I promise. As long as we're both okay tonight I just want to talk about nothing. It's been a long day. You are okay, right? You said Charlie wasn't mad?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Charlie's just been quiet." I paused, frowning. "You're not avoiding the subject or something, are you?"

"No, Bella," he placated me with a soft chuckle. "I'm just tired."

"Oh. Do you want to go to sleep then?"

"No." He laughed again and I heard the rustling of blankets. My heart skipped a beat.

It was nighttime and Edward and I were both in a bed. Separate beds and only connected by a cell tower, but still.

"What… do you want to do?" Wow, the tone of my voice probably couldn't have sounded _more_ obvious.

"Interesting way to phrase that," he drawled. Was it possible to go weak in the knees while lying down? "What do you want me to do?"

I pulled the covers over my head in a swoop of air. My blush seemed to spread everywhere. "Uhm." My breath was shallow.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He sounded amused.

Actually, he was just evil.

"A little," I replied. My hand was sweating around the phone. I was also trembling from bursts of unexplainable coolness that were chased away by the heat of his voice. "I kind of like it, I think."

"Do you now?"

"A little."

"I'm going to tell you what I want to do."

Oh dear god.

"I want to read you something."

Huh? "Huh?"

_Evil_.

"It's long, so pay attention." He sounded like he was enjoying this too much. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," I sighed out, equal parts relieved and disappointed. Gosh, I lived in the gutter and he knew it.

He cleared his throat comically, but when he began his voice had lost all light-heartedness. "Every day you play with the light of the universe," he started, and I recognized it immediately.

My breath caught.

"Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. / You are more than this white head that I hold tightly / as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands. / You are like nobody," he paused and I let my eyes flutter closed, waiting, "since I love you." I pressed my hand over my heart and curled onto my side; I felt the rushing of his breath. "Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. / Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? / Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. / Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. / The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. / Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. / The rain takes off her clothes."

He stopped and I heard him shifting. I took my bottom lip between my teeth, letting his words possess me, letting the bittersweet desire of the prose, the imperfection of the yearning lyrics caress me.

"The birds go by, fleeing. / The wind. The wind. / I can contend only against the power of men. / The storm whirls dark leaves / and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky." His tone had darkened; his tenor trembled with the ghost of pain. "You are here. Oh, you do not run away. / You will answer me to the last cry. / Cling to me as though you were frightened. / Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

"Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, / and even your breasts smell of it. / While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies / I love you," he whispered, "and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

"How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, / my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running." The double meaning in his words seized me, touched me. I wrapped an arm around my folded legs, clinging to every syllable. "So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, / and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

"My words rained over you, stroking you," and they did. "A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. / I go so far as to think that you own the universe. / I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, / dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. / I want / to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."

I let out an exhale that quivered. I clutched the cloth over my thrumming heart and overheated skin.

"Bella?" My name was roughened and husky on his tongue.

"Yes?"

"Good night."

"Edward?" He was silent, but I could hear his shallow breath. "I love you too."

* * *

I made breakfast for Charlie in the morning.

I basically cleaned out the kitchen preparing fruit and waffles and pancakes and _yes_, even French toast. I laid everything out on the kitchen table, his plate already full. He had a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, a glass of water, and a cup of coffee. (And more in his thermos.) I had even warmed the syrup.

I was desperate.

I sat at our overflowing table and waited for him to walk down the stairs. I could hear him shuffling around and getting ready. It was only a matter of time.

I rested my heavy head on my tired arms. I hadn't slept, even after that phone call. Actually, I hadn't slept partially _because_ of that phone call.

God, that phone call.

"Bells?" I shot up like a wound jack-in-the-box. "Is this all for us?"

Charlie looked confused. Mostly I felt triumphant because he said more than three words. "Uhm, you, really," I answered, trying to smile.

His eyes narrowed and he shifted onto one leg. I knew that look. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Naturally I wanted to lie. Under any other circumstance, I would have claimed a few hours of unconscious bliss. I knew better than to fib now, however. "Not at all."

He heaved a sigh and fell into his chair. "Bella, I'm not mad at you," he told the floor, sounding as exhausted as I felt. "I'm just _disappointed_ you lied… but I can understand why you would have."

I could have jumped up and _danced_. I could have sung hallelujah and found Jesus or something.

"To be honest, I'm angry at Carlisle. I think I'll head over to the hospital to have a talk with him today."

He turned to eat his food. And that was it.

That was _all_. I was floored.

"That's it?" I gaped at him.

"Yeah," he said, digging into his pancakes, "just don't lie to me again, Bella."

* * *

So, the I love yous just sort of slapped me in the face. No joke, they just happened. Basically I wanted to include the poem (which is one of Pablo Neruda's love poems and it is for real the most divine amazing erotic love poem ever and I recommend it to anyone who can read), and obviously it required Edward to say those three words more than once and I just thought ~fuck it, they're teenagers~ Teenagers go too fast sometimes. Do you think it was too fast?

ANYWAY. Next up is more Emmett. I can promise this much.

Also, a lot of reviews keep asking if the other Cullens are going to pop up soon. Truthfully I have no idea if they will or not. If they do, it'll be a surprise to me too.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** HI BEAUTIFULS! I'm back with the ~longest chapter yet~. Mostly because there's a surprise somewhere at the end. ;)

This took so long because yes, sigh, I had to actually get work done. Ridiculous, I know. But here it is!

THANK YOU TO **VAMPSKIES**. She's my beta because I finally caved when she offered to help out. I admitted I have a problem. It's just I edit enough at the newspaper, you know?? Seriously though, she's just the shit.

* * *

I had a mental list of questions ready for Edward.

I rushed into school, probably forgetting something but not caring one bit. I was exhausted, tired, dead on my feet, about ready to crash—pick your synonym.

But I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to wrap my arms around Edward and never let go. Sort of like an annoying clinging monkey.

I bet he wouldn't mind.

I saw him by his locker—or the back of him at least, and this horribly embarrassing goofy grin spread my lips around my face.

That man right there—yeah, the one in the worn jeans and the wrinkled button-down, the one that looks like he has never heard of a comb or a razor—he totally confessed his love to me last night.

_Through erotic poetry._

He turned around, his nose already in his trusty Dickinson companion. His mouth was moving around words, and a small wistful smile kissed his lips.

A smile that grew into a wicked crooked grin when his green eyes lifted to find mine.

I ran to him. If my life were a movie, some love ballad would be playing in the background, everything surrounding us would stop, and the scene would dramatically slide into slow motion.

My life isn't a movie though, and instead I lacked the coordination to do anything but literally trip over myself into his arms.

He grabbed my falling body and his shoulders slammed into the row of lockers, poor Emily falling to the floor.

"Well, good morning to you too." His fingers pushed locks of hair behind my ear and hovered to lightly tickle the nape of my neck.

I pressed closer against him, because I couldn't get close enough. "Guess what?"

"What's that?"

"Charlie's okay with us, I think."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. He was in a really good mood today. "Really?"

I nodded and twined my arms around his neck, bringing his forehead down to mine. "Also, I love you."

I think his sudden grin might have contested mine. I wanted to explode into a million ecstatic pieces when he tilted his head, just enough to rub his nose against mine in an innocent butterfly kiss. "What a coincidence," he breathed, "because I love you."

I threw myself around him and clung, giggling softly into his hair for no reason at all besides _Edward loves me._

"Gosh, you're adorable," he murmured.

I kissed behind his ear, his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose, his lips, his lips, his lips.

So I pretty much just stopped at his lips.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, get a room."

I detached my face from Edward's to greet Emmett's rolling eyes.

And I almost turned back to Edward and suggested that we should. I opted for sticking my tongue out at our intruder like a five-year-old. "Moment ruiner!" I goaded.

"Run along, your highn_ass_," he teased with a playful grin. "I need to talk to your prince."

"Mine." I gripped Edward tighter, pressing my cheek against his chest and glaring at Emmett.

He erupted in laughter, and I felt Edward shake with the same. "What do you want, Emmett?" he managed to inquire.

I rested my chin on his shoulder and smiled up at his easy happiness. I'd never seen him so relaxed, and that was despite the nasty looking bruise he was sporting from yesterday.

I rubbed the scruff below it with the backs of my fingers.

"World peace and shit," Emmett answered. I watched Edward's expression turn incredulous and I leaned further into him. I honestly could not look away.

"And shit?" he asked, eyebrows rising.

"Yeah, shit." Emmett's voice grew unsure. "I thought we could catch up. You know, sometime."

"We should," Edward said. His smile fell, but not in a bad way—it stayed small and hopeful.

Aw, man. I couldn't cockblock the Edward/Emmett bromance with my lovesickness.

"You should," I spoke up, jumping to my tiptoes and planting a kiss on Edward's cheek. My face pinched at the scratchy beard there. I loved it. "Right now. I have class anyway."

I extracted myself from Edward's arms and smiled brightly at him. "I'll see you at lunch," I promised.

I skipped past Emmett, nudging his thick head along the way.

Today was a good day.

* * *

It turned out I didn't have to wait four whole unbearable periods of whispers and stares to see Edward. (Not that I minded them much, considering how fucking awesome my day was.) He was standing outside my first period class with a contagious grin.

"How'd it go with Emmett?"

He shushed me. More accurately, he grabbed my face and kissed me senseless.

"Good."

I blinked. "I asked a question?"

He slanted his head to the side, curiously watching my reaction. "That could come in handy…"

I slapped his chest. "Shut up. Tell me about your bromance."

"Well, we're in love," he stated very matter-of-factly. He took me under his arm and I happily nestled there as we walked. "I'm leaving you and we're moving to Cabo together."

"Oh." I nodded gravely. "You have my blessing."

"You'd give me up so easily?"

"No. It was my plan all along to follow you both there and seduce you by wearing a very teeny bikini. You'd fall at my feet and beg me to take you back. I'd consent if you promised to only think of me so tenderly for the rest of time." I sighed with impatience. "Honestly, Edward, you'd be better off skipping that little love tryst to save me from wasting frequent flyer miles."

"This bikini sounds worth it, though…" I beamed up at him and his eyes smoldered down on me. "Emmett has decided we're friends again," he explained. "He's very set on it. In fact, he's insisting to punch out anyone who looks at me funny."

"But that's the whole school."

"That's what I said."

"Dumb Emmett." I shook my head, linking my hands behind Edward's neck as we stopped outside my next class. "Speaking of, you said you didn't have any friends?"

The question was tentative and the easiest, most non-threatening one on my list. I figured starting slow and simple was our best bet.

A puff of air left his nose, and he frowned. Part of me wanted to abort this mission. I really liked that smile.

"I didn't have anyone I _thought_ were friends," he clarified, "but I talked to Emmett more than anyone else; Angela sometimes, too. More or less I kept to myself though. It was… tough." He shrugged and looked down. "I don't know," he sighed.

I'm not sure Edward would ever cease to amaze—not at all, ever. I'm not sure he knew how easily I could feel his pain, that it radiated from him and I absorbed it with all the compassion in my body.

His hair was soft between my fingers and so were his lips when I fit into his hunched torso, angling my neck to kiss away the sadness of his past.

He responded with gentleness, his hands sliding over my hips and around my back, his lips contouring and pressing into mine.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" he whispered.

It took a moment for me to realize the halls were nearly empty and the bell was probably about to ring.

"Okay," I muttered, but I kissed him again, waiting for that shrill sound to separate us.

* * *

By the time lunch came around, my mental list had become an actual list scribbled on a page in my math notebook:

1.) Edward said he had no friends. Mystery. Solved.

2.) How the hell did you become friends with Emmett?

3.) Emmett and you? Really?

4.) Is your mom the reason you decided to stop going to church?

5.) Are you going to go back? I'll go with you, if you want.

6.) How did the talk with Carlisle go?

7.) What did Carlisle say?

8.) Is everything okay with him?

9.) What's going to happen now that the principal knows the truth?

10.) Do you feel okay after yesterday?

11.) Is there anything I can do?

12.) Are you visiting your mom this weekend?

13.) Can I come if you are, if that's not too intrusive?

14.) Are we still having a date Friday?

15.) Can I kiss you?

16.) You can pick where.

I decided it would be easier just to give him the list and we'd go through each one together, all the while making googly eyes at each other. So I was curiously surprised when Edward was waiting for me outside the lunchroom door, balancing two drinks and packaged sandwiches against his hip.

"Lunch?"

"Picnic." He smiled softly and closed the space between us, his free arm snaking around my waist.

I had no idea how, but he had perfected the Bella's Knees Turn to Jelly look.

"With like… a checkered blanket and ants?"

"No blanket, no ants." He shook his head, the green of his eyes gleaming down at me, his neck arced and his nose was close to mine. There wasn't much else I wanted to do but step forward and mold against his warmth for about an eternity. Why did he have to act so distractingly enthralled with me? That was _my_ job. (Only with him and not myself, of course.)

"Well, as long as there's no ants." I pressed my lips together. The small scar disrupting his scruff was seriously tempting me.

"Come on," he whispered, and I followed like a lovesick puppy, my hand dwarfed in his.

It didn't take long to figure out where we were going—Forks High wasn't a big school and there weren't many places to have a picnic, particularly because it was raining outside.

By the time he was opening the library door for me with a mischievous smirk, I was having Edward-induced convulsions.

Because _oh my god I had the best boyfriend in the world._

Sure enough, he tugged on my hand, forsaking the main area and the prissy librarian for the stacks.

I had never been in a library and felt less interested in books. My vision narrowed on the tufts of messy hair above my head, the contours of sinew and grace that angled his body, the way his wrist was tight with the strength he used to hold onto my palm.

I stepped closer as we walked deeper, past the fiction and the non-fiction, into the rarely frequented biographies. I hugged his arm to my chest and bit my lip when he turned to smile at me.

"Here?" His voice was low and reverent.

"Yeah, this is good."

For some reason as we both sat beside each other in dim light, surrounded by musty volumes and shelves, I felt something changing in the way he glanced sideways at me, the careful way he thoughtfully unscrewed my water bottle and handed it to me. There was something different about the way he shifted to accommodate my need to be close to him—the way he squeezed my shoulders and kissed my forehead, his hand hovering but not touching my thigh.

"Are you nervous?" I whispered. What could he nervous about?

"No," he lied. I frowned and tilted my head to look into his guarded emerald gaze. "What would I be nervous about?"

"I don't know." My breath left me in a _whoosh_. "Talking?"

He looked away, taking a drink from his own bottle. Up close, I could see every tick and every eyelash, every crease and line and shadow, every growing hair along his neck to his sideburns and around his jaw.

I wanted to nuzzle into that crook, but I held back, reaching for the ripped page from my pocket. "I made a list."

His nostrils flared and he turned towards me, the doubt on his features giving way to humor. "You made a list?"

"Well, yes." I pointed my chin up at him. "I didn't want to forget anything."

I jumped a little when he kissed the tip of my nose. He laughed at my reaction and took the paper from me. "Let's see, then…"

I was suddenly the nervous one as he read my scribbled words, his smile falling and then perking up towards the end. "I can pick where?"

"We start at one, Edward. Not sixteen," I chastised him.

"Fine," he sighed, mocking exasperation. "Well, one's done, so… Two. How the hell did you become friends with Emmett?"

"And when," I added.

"Uhm." He scratched the back of his head, alternating between looking at my questions and back at me. "He was outgoing. I was… antisocial. It was more like he bullied me into talking to him around eighth grade."

"Bullied you? Why would he do that?"

"Emmett's… abrasive. And everyone liked him, but I didn't." Edward shrugged. "I thought I was the shit in middle school, honestly. I had an ego complex, thinking I was smarter than everyone else. I called Emmett dumb for not know who Shakespeare was and he ripped on me. It was… eye-opening." He smiled and looked towards me. "Emmett humbled me and I was angry at him for it. But he never stopped talking to me, so… eventually I had no choice but to get over myself."

I let out a giggle, touching my fingers to my lips to hold it in. "What did he say?"

Edward's cheeks grew a delightful pink color. I snorted. "He said I was, if I'm remembering correctly, a dick-eating asswad pansy-reading shithead."

"Colorful." I grinned from beneath my digits. "I guess you can skip number three, then."

Edward sighed at number four, and I watched his Adam's apple bob. I touched the hollow beneath his throat, and waited for it—but he didn't tense. Instead, he palmed my thigh and massaged it gently, comfortingly. I warmed everywhere. "Yeah," he all but muttered. "I didn't want to go back to church. Just because… the people, what they thought, and I… honestly after everything, I didn't believe any of it anymore."

His brows were furrowed, his face down. My hand slid down to rest over his heart. "What about now?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I don't want to go back. No matter what, I just don't—I don't believe that crap anymore."

I studied his dark expression, the sadness that seemed to inject his every slight movement, his every feature. His emerald eyes darted to mine, and his jaw tightened.

"Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… I don't know. Like you feel sorry for me."

"I don't—" I paused, setting myself. "I don't feel sorry for you. I just… care."

He broke our gaze and began to pull away, and I panicked inwardly. I clutched at his retreating body and held him to me until he relaxed back into the shelves. I pulled my buried face from his shoulder and scooted closer, pressing my nose into his scratchy neck. I felt him swallow against my lips.

"The talk with Carlisle went fine," he finally admitted. "Nothing's different now that the principal knows. The truth will probably get around as a rumor at first. My dad's adamant about telling everyone on my behalf, regardless of how it makes him look."

I frowned. He didn't sound happy. "That sounds like things will be different. Better for you."

"I prefer the way things are."

"You prefer being ignored and hated over something that wasn't your fault?" I held my breath, but Edward stayed still.

"It was still wrong to take the gun to school," he spoke evenly. "It's not Carlisle's fault he didn't know or wasn't in the right state of mind to realize the situation I was in. It's not my mom's."

"I wasn't blaming anybody," I murmured.

"I should have gone to Carlisle with the truth immediately, but I didn't because I was scared. I was stupid and thought I was protecting her by denying what was right in front of me. As if I could actually help her myself. As if I would be enough for her." His voice was increasingly flat. His breath shook. "It's my fault she ended up attempting to even after all my misplaced efforts—"

I tore myself back, the realization dawning on me with horror.

Edward's secret—it wasn't just a selfless act to protect his mother's reputation and her dignity, or to shield her from prejudice or ridicule or pity.

It was his _punishment_.

"Don't you dare," I hissed the words, grasping at his shirt. His eyes were wide, filled with shame, and verdantly green. "_None of this_," I stressed, the words choking me, "is _your fault_."

He looked away. "I'm not angry at Carlisle. He's made his mistakes and I've made mine."

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to slap him until he could see the situation with a lick of sense.

"Edward, that's—_no_." I grabbed his face and pulled it to mine, searching his reluctant gaze. "None of this is your fault, do you hear me? You did everything you could. You did everything you thought was right, and out of everyone I have ever known, you do _not_ deserve what you're putting yourself through. Do you understand?"

I saw it—I saw his mask, his bravado drop. I saw the moment in his eyes before they slipped closed and his arms wrapped around me, dragging me into his lap. The paper crinkled between us, his lips resting over my collarbone. I held him and he pulled me closer and closer, exhaling into my skin.

I was home.

My lips pressed into the mess of his hair and his fingers trailed down my spine.

"I don't really feel okay," he said.

It took me a moment to realize he was answering one of my questions.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You're already doing it."

I stroked back his hair, feeling the texture of the strands, the way they tickled my cheek. My lashes touched my cheeks and my shoulders rolled around him, bringing him even closer.

"I want you to come with me this weekend," he murmured. "And yes," he said, kissing my throat, "I'm taking you out Friday."

"Good," I muttered playfully. "You can't keep getting the milk for free."

He barked out laughter and it shook us both. And suddenly he was leaning forward, his hands slowing and his breath shallowing, giving me no time to adjust to the thought of a date or that he wanted me with him this weekend.

"Do I get to choose where _now_?" He bit the lobe of my ear and I whimpered a little.

"Yes," I complied.

I would have crawled into his lap, but it occurred to me I was already there.

"Can I choose _everywhere_?" I felt his smile against my neck.

I was feeling a _lot_ of things, primarily Edward.

I gasped and my head lolled back, and then his hot wet lips were on mine, and I was officially making out during a picnic in the library with Edward Cullen beneath me.

I was a lucky girl.

* * *

**OUTTAKE**

"She's sweet."

She was more than sweet.

I watched Bella trip down the hall, completely mindless of every stare and whisper that followed her. Under any other circumstance, I would have been enraged. I would probably have wanted to smash their heads into every available hard surface.

What I _actually_ wanted to do, on the other hand, was probably illegal in a very different way.

"Seriously, dude, she is _hot_," Emmett rambled beside me. I hadn't talked to him in so long that I didn't recognize the move for what it was. He was exuberantly uncomfortable with how to approach our broken friendship. So, he rambled nonsense. "I don't know how you bagged that pretty little ass, but—"

I picked up Emily and dusted her off, smiling to myself. I smacked Emmett upside the head with it. Hard. "Watch it," I warned.

I peeked as she turned the corner, catching a glimpse of her huge grin. She did have a nice… well, everything, not that I would know anymore than Emmett did. I would certainly love to find out.

Of course, I had to stop that train of thought. I didn't want to have an embarrassing situation on such a great day.

"Jesus, fuck. That hurt," he whined, rubbing his scalp.

Emily Dickinson _had_ written a lot of poetry.

"Mine." I smirked, repeating Bella's defense.

"What the fuck ever, man. What the hell was that? A textbook?"

"Poetry."

"Fucking pansy," he muttered.

I closed my locker and turned to him, waiting. His hand dropped from his head, his face suddenly an indifferent mask. Here it came. "So, your mom, huh?"

Always count on Emmett to get to the point. It was one of the things I used to hate and appreciate about him. It was the sole reason I had stopped talking to him.

He cared.

I swallowed and looked away. The decisions I had made in the last year were laid out for me to see—and every single one I couldn't bring myself to regret. I could feel shame, loneliness; I could grow to hate myself in the eyes of my peers. But I wouldn't redo one moment or make one choice any different.

Except for maybe this one.

"Don't tell anyone," I ordered, setting my features expressionless.

Emmett's eyes darted around the halls. "Edward, all of these people hate you for _no fucking reason._"

"I'm okay with it." I held my chin up, ignoring the lie in my voice.

"Well, sure you are," he scoffed, "now that you've got a chick to distract you. I'm not effing blind, asshole. For a while I thought you were going to use that gun on yourself, you were so depressed. Even before all that other shit." He took a menacing step forward, rising a finger to my face. "Yeah, all that other shit. Like the month of fucking phone calls you ignored. I started to feel like a clingy girlfriend, you bitch."

"Bella's not a distraction, and I wasn't going to kill myself." I shook my head, keeping my volume low. I didn't address his other concerns; Emmett, despite seeming as thickheaded as any stereotypical jock could be, was anything but. He possessed the uncanny ability to see things exactly as they were, and he spoke without a filter.

"Dude." His hand pushed my shoulder and I lifted my eyes to his. He crossed his arms and leaned back into the lockers, exhaling with exasperation.

I should apologize—I knew that's what he wanted, but he would never ask for it. Emmett was even better at letting his own feelings slide than I was, mostly to avoid confessing he had any.

"I'm sorry," I said, surprised that I was nervous to say the words, even though I meant them. Because I _did_ mean them. I meant them, and I felt as if I didn't deserve forgiveness for the way I had acted. But I was selfish and desperate enough to accept it.

"Shut up, Cullen. Fuck you." He looked away quickly, his words grudging and evasive. I smiled knowingly. "Listen, don't do it again. And if any of these fuckers look at you funny, tell me and I'll beat their asses up."

"That's the entire school."

"Shut up."

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** Guys. Guys. I can't count how many times I have read authors thanking their betas in notes, and I always thought "awe, that was sweet" and moved on. BUT DEAR GOD! I don't know if all betas are like this, but YOU ARE BEYOND AWESOME. YOU ARE AWESOME PERSONIFIED. For real, you guys would not have a chapter this soon if it were not for her insight. I wouldn't also have a better summary. Thank you. :)

As always, your reviews mean the world to me. I'm serious. I was reading them over and they inspired me to keep writing when I was in a lull.

* * *

I was wearing my expensive jeans again. They were the only halfway decent pants I had that weren't slacks.

I played with the hem of blouse, tracing the faded yellow and blue flower print on it and peeking out of the window.

Charlie was on the couch next to me watching TV.

"When's he coming?"

"Uhm, five minutes or so," I answered.

Charlie took a drag from his beer can. He might have glanced my way, but I wasn't paying attention.

I was too busy tugging my hands through my hair like it was my new chronic illness.

So, I was a little nervous. This was my first date. Ever. With anyone. Once upon a time Ryan Fletcher groped me in a closet and called me his girlfriend before Janis Something-or-other let him get to second base. As far as relationships go, that one was a dud, considering he broke up with me an hour later. That was pretty much my only relationship experience before Edward.

I don't think I've mentioned it. It's sort of embarrassing. Plus, there was no dating involved, just a slimy kiss and some off-putting heavy breathing.

So, this dating thing? Totally new.

By the time I'd reminded myself that I was that pathetic, Edward's silver Volvo was pulling up to the house. I sunk down and peeked over the windowsill as he got out, his hands fumbling in and out of his pockets.

His hair was way too messy and sort of to die for, which was why I noticed it first. His beard was neat and trimmed down to scruff, and he was wearing old jeans and a pressed red button-down. His lips were moving as he circled around his car, and I realized with growing amusement that he was muttering to himself, his eyes on the ground.

I watched his lanky frame walk briskly to the door, his hand reaching to nervously muss his hair.

I snorted. No wonder it looked like a haystack. A sexy haystack.

I jumped up and ran to the entrance before he could knock, eager to end his discomfort. Or at least speed it up. The faster it starts, the faster it's over, right?

"Bella?"

"He's here." I was suddenly grinning and whipping the door open.

He was even more delicious up close.

"Hey," he sighed out with a relieved smile. He reached for his locks again.

I almost tackled him, but considering my dad was standing and walking over to us both, I spared myself the humiliation. I rested my cheek on the open door and gestured for him to come in. He did, his hand reaching out immediately towards Charlie.

What a gentleman. Also, what a bicep.

"Chief Swan. I'm Edward Cullen." I noted his smile was gone.

Charlie took his hand and held it, his knuckles white and his eyes narrowed. Edward stared right back.

There was definitely some intense father-boyfriend moment going down. "So. Where are you taking my daughter?"

My dad took his hand away and rested it on his empty gun holster. He hadn't changed out of his uniform yet, and now I understood why. He was trying to be intimidating, and being a cop for two decades certainly helped.

"Dinner in Port Angeles and then to the movies. I'll have her home whenever you'd like her back."

Oh, smooth.

"Eleven."

"_Dad_," I said pointedly. I almost stomped my foot. "It's _Friday_."

He scrutinized my stubborn look and then heaved a sigh. "Midnight. No later."

* * *

I was glad Edward had insisted on an early dinner in light of my dad's overzealous curfew.

Truth be told, I was just glad to be out with Edward.

I smiled at him sidelong, watching his hands work the car, the stretched muscles in his hands and the delicate blue veins branching from his knuckles. The sun was streaming across his silhouette, and I was in love.

His lips ticked upwards and I grinned at his curious glance.

"Is there something you'd like to share?" he inquired on a laugh.

"No. I'm just admiring the view."

"Is it a nice view?" He kept his smirk on the road.

"Eh," I shrugged. "It could use some work."

He laughed, low and deep. I settled my head back into the seat and touched the back of his hand, his digits so casually slung over the gearshift.

I traced the protuberance of his knuckles, the lines of blood. I bit my lip when he turned his hand over, and I pressed my palm against his.

"Edward?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" I liked the way he said the endearment, even though I had always hated the word—because he said it with a knowing edge, a mocking lilt covering a deep affection, like he disliked the word too but used it anyway.

"What—I mean…" I sighed. Why did this have to be so hard? "Tell me… will you tell me about your mom?"

He licked his lips and I blinked—and just like that, he was serious. "What do you want to know?"

None of my follow-up questions seemed appropriate. Once again I battled with my desire to _know_ and the way to phrase… just anything in a way that wouldn't push him away. In a very real way I knew it was important to talk; that we should talk and _he_ should talk, but I was uneasy about it. I was uneasy because he hadn't been lying on the phone the other night.

He acted like he didn't want to, and I was anything but confrontational.

"Well… what was she like?" I asked tentatively. I immediately winced. "I mean what _is_ she like? I… I didn't mean to sound like—" Ugh.

His hand was firm and unmoving in mine. I recognized the blankness rolling over his features. "She's my mom."

Right. I quelled the frustration that reared up and turned to watch the rock face of mountains and forest.

"Bella," he sighed. "I'm sorry." I bit my lip. "I know you're just trying to help, but I… this is hard for me."

"It's hard for me too," I muttered. I couldn't decide if I was justified for saying it out loud or even thinking it. But when push came to shove, I knew I meant it. "We talked about this, about… talking. I don't know. I don't want to push, but I just…" My cheeks heated at the realization of how many references to _myself_ I had just made. "I'm sorry, Edward. I just don't know how to approach this entire situation," I blurted out, the words jumbling together. "I have no idea how to talk to you about it without you just shutting down."

"I _don't_ shut down," he spat out. He reclaimed his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his fingers flex on the steering wheel. "I seem to recall yesterday at lunch I was _quite_ candid with you."

The last time Edward and I had argued, his anger hadn't been directed at me. This time, I could hear the irritation in his voice, the defensive sarcasm, and it was all on me.

I said nothing, and turned to watch the scenery again. I wasn't sure which of us was right.

It became increasingly obvious as we entered Port Angeles that I should have kept my big stupid mouth shut. My mouth was dry as he pulled over to the curb and got out of the car too quickly, not sparing me a glance.

I ruined the entire night. I was still clambering to grab my bag and open the door when he did both for me, accomplishing both tasks in one graceful movement.

I stared up at the strap he was offering and his condescending stare. I felt like utter crap, but I also felt annoyed at his stubborn belittling gestures, and the anger spurred me.

I snatched my bag from him and propelled my way past him. "You _do_ shut down." I spun around and set my feet. "Every single time. I mention anything from your oh-so-secretive past and you get this _awful_ blank expression on your face and you start talking to me like _I'm_ the bad guy for caring to know or you just change the subject. And yes, Edward, we actually _talked_ yesterday, but you were going to pull away! And don't deny it!" My chest heaved. I was only partially aware that people were glancing our way. Edward took a step forward, looking alarmed and flustered, but I waved my hands to warn him off. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, and I guess I _am_ rushing you but I don't mean to. I'm just so constantly worried all the time and it makes it worse when Emmett knows more than I do and every time I'm curious or I want to help I have to think over and over about everything I'm saying and how I word it not to scare you off. I'm trying to find the line between what's okay and what's not, but you've yet to define it at all and I don't _want_ there to be lines! How is this relationship going to work if there's lines?! You said you were sorry for not being open enough, but Edward, you've hardly told me anything or offered anything yourself. I feel like I'm trying to hold up both of our promises to each other! It's like nothing has really changed and—"

He grabbed me, his fingers fisting my hair, and his lips crushing mine drowned my next words.

"Mmerfu," I said. My eyes were wide open and so were his. My vision focused and unfocused until I could only see one of his green orbs.

He pulled away, our mouths making an audible smacking noise.

I wanted to say something—like _what the hell?_ or _you bastard!_ or _you call that a kiss_? but Edward moved to cup my jaw and I could see him in those eyes again.

"You are…" He trailed off and huffed breath out of his nose, his mouth clamping shut. His head tilted to the side, and then he shook it incredulously. "…so…"

Ridiculous? Absurd? Stupid? Silly? Insecure? I could think of many adjectives.

"…_relentless_."

Oh. Oh?

Yeah, and?

"Thanks?" I wasn't really sure what he was getting at.

He pulled away and my stomach dropped; my face felt cold without his touch. He shut the car door with an aggravated push and heavily leaned against it with a sigh.

He studied the car keys, spinning them around his fingers.

A part of me demanded I rush forward and beg him to forget everything I just said. That it wasn't important and he should just forget it, and I'd wrap my arms around his waist and everything would be fine. But I was too tired of apologizing, and I was tired of acting like everything was okay.

"It's not like," he started and I took an urgent step towards him, hanging on every strained word. "It's not like I make a conscious effort to shut down."

His eyes lifted and they were swimming in irritation.

I nodded. "I know."

"I can't just change overnight." His voice raised a decibel. "Not everything's about _you_, Bella. Maybe you can just snap your fingers and change everything you've ever known, but _I can't_."

I flinched at his harsh tone and the pain in his words, but refused to look away from his turbulent eyes. I held the elbow of my opposite arm to keep myself together. "I'm not saying everything's about me," I muttered in a small voice, but he just went on.

"You think this is easy?" he sputtered. "This isn't _easy_. I spend enough fucking time thinking about my mom that every time you bring her up I just wish you'd stay _quiet_." His fists were clenched.

I brought both my arms around my center and blinked. I moved too fast, too indiscreetly to stop the immediate tear without Edward noticing. All at once, the anger possessing him fled.

He looked down suddenly, and his fingers weaved through his hair. He fisted the locks too roughly; his body tensed. "_Bella_." He was in agony.

I didn't heed his plea—my chest was too tight with the snap and fury in his words.

"I didn't…" He unraveled, his arms falling to his sides. I was struck by the shame in his eyes when he lifted his head. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, how else could you have possibly meant that?" I lashed back. I shifted on my feet, contemplating just walking away. I felt the hysteria seizing me again, piece by piece.

Edward stared, pleading with his eyes—asking for me to understand, to let it go, but I just couldn't give him my dignity this time. This was my entire fucking point. I sacrificed and he didn't.

"I'm sorry. It was stupid," he finally admitted. "I was mad."

He pushed from the car, one of his hands poised to reach for me. Something primal in me lowered my eyes and propelled me back a step. He froze.

"Bella." His voice was like silk. "I'm _sorry_. I hear what you're saying, and I… I'm _trying_." I shook my head at myself, pained at his words. Edward's voice dipped and panicked; he took my silent response the wrong way. "I'll try harder."

I bit my lip and hugged my chest, my vocal chords strangled. "How do I—well how do I know you're not just going to get mad or shut down?"

He stepped closer too quickly, his arms wrapping around my shoulders. I felt the rigidness of his body dispel when I wriggled my trapped hands from his chest and held him around his shoulders, burying my face in the offered crook of his arm.

"Because I promise," he said, the words breathed into my hair. "It's just I can't—I can't just change everything so easily. But I love you, Bella, and I just need time to figure this out." I could hardly breathe in his crushing embrace. "Okay?"

I nodded vigorously. I felt his lips kiss the back of my neck and one of his arms dropped down to my waist.

"Okay?" he repeated, and pulled back. His lips were at the corner of my eye, my cheek, lingering on my lips. "Please don't be mad," he pleaded desperately.

It made me uneasy. "Edward, I'm not mad," I whispered. He kissed me again fiercely, and I squeezed him tighter. "I'm not mad," I whispered into his kiss.

His tongue invaded my mouth and his hands were rough. I recognized the possessiveness, his need to reassure himself that I wasn't going anywhere.

His lips eventually found my forehead and I maneuvered my arms around his neck. "I get it, okay?" I muttered as he rained kisses along the side of my face. "I know you're not used to talking about her."

He nodded and kissed me again. "Let's go inside," he muttered.

His fingers grasped mine at my soft "okay."

* * *

I was coming to the conclusion that Edward had a thing for picnics.

We spent less than a half-hour waiting to take amazing Italian food to go, and then we were off again, back towards Forks. With absolutely no explanation.

"Edward, if this is your idea of taking a girl to dinner…" I clicked my tongue.

He pressed the gas harder and smiled. "I know what I'm doing."

Then we were pulling off the highway into this little nook overlooking Lake Crescent, a bit of a ways down a dirt road. We stopped just as the sun was starting to sink behind the towering mountains, painting the sky in pinks and oranges and reds.

The water was shimmering, reflecting the palette up above. My lips parted; Edward must have set up a two-person chair and thick blankets hours ago, because there everything was, facing the sunset.

"You coming?" He smiled, walking forward and holding our Styrofoam-wrapped dinners.

Oh, he was good.

I grinned and followed, plopping down into the folding chair even before he did. "So, do I know what I'm doing now?" he asked, smug.

I took my dinner, placed it on my lap, and kissed him square on the lips.

I didn't care that I was feeding his ego. Because he was good.

"That's a yes," he decided triumphantly, sitting next to me.

I leaned into his shoulder and opened my dinner, breathing in the scent of mushroom ravioli and accepting a plastic fork with a short giggle. The sadness and aggravation and hurt from not even a mere hour ago left me as I chewed my delicious dinner, watching the natural beauty before me. Even though it was growing cold and dark, Edward was warm and the stars were starting to light the sky.

I watched the twilight, the dark blues giving way to black, the moon brightening in the absence of the sun. Not before long the last rays of streaking vibrant orange were retreating below the horizon.

"It's so beautiful here." I broke the silence in a hushed whisper.

Edward collected our plates, a small pleased smile on his lips. In the night, the jade of his eyes were mellowed and vivid all at the same time. His skin was paler, nearly translucent. He reached over me for the blankets and I stole a kiss, my lips brushing the exact corner of his jaw.

He wrapped the blanket around us both and I snuggled under his arm, shivering when he returned my kiss, lightly touching his lips below my ear.

I sighed deeper into his embrace, my eyes half-lidded. I listened to the singing crickets and smelled the pine and fresh water.

"It's too bad it's overcast." I felt his voice rumble in his chest. "We could see more of the stars."

But I didn't really care about the sky anymore.

"Edward?" I murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for taking me out."

I felt his smile on the crown of my head. "My pleasure." He squeezed me closer and there was no way to describe the soothing warmth that flooded me.

"What time are we leaving tomorrow?"

I felt his smile wane, but he tenderly tucked my hair with sweeping fingers behind my ear. I held my breath.

"Around eight or so," he answered. "My dad's coming with us this time."

I nodded and finally exhaled again.

"We like to get there around noon. She's usually…" He sighed, his voice hoarse. He nuzzled into my hair. "Usually she's more lucid than when you saw her. She's confused… a lot, but she… talks more."

I tilted my chin up, fitting my nose beside his. I looked down at his lips and swallowed past the lump in my throat, untangling my hand from the blankets to stroke his cheek. I couldn't think of the right words to convey what I was feeling—love, gratitude, protectiveness, sympathy, sadness—every word I could think of was just a word, just letters that made syllables that couldn't even begin to encompass how much I loved the man in front of me. How much I loved his strength, his devotion, his everything.

"I can't wait to see her again," I confessed, and I meant it. I meant it with every fiber in my being. "I know we weren't there for long, but she was just so… she was really beautiful, Edward. I wish I could have known her before…"

He choked out something that sounded like a relieved laugh and angled his head down so his forehead balanced on mine.

I looked into his full eyes and smiled softly, even though he looked broken and scared and vulnerable. I smiled because I knew I would take care of him.

He kissed me and I lowered my lashes, pressing gently into his wide frame. The first drop of rain splashed against my cheek, and it was cold and wet and rejuvenating.

I shifted, freeing myself from the covers to wrap my arms around him, shuddering as the rain caressed my shoulders and soaked into my hair. I smoothed over the moist pebbles that caught on Edward's jaw and sighed when he pulled me effortlessly into his lap.

And suddenly the sky opened up with a clash and we were soaked, the rain drowning out all else.

Edward laughed against my lips and I pulled back to grin.

"Car?"

"Car," I agreed.

I climbed off of him, and pulled him up by the hand, leading the way past the growing puddles and forming mud. I jumped into the backseat and suddenly the pounding of rain was only a constant thudding on the roof of the Volvo.

"Ew." I kicked off my squishy sandals while Edward discarded his dirty Converses.

He shook his hair out and beads of water flew.

I lunged for him, clumsily straddling his thighs and holding his shoulders for leverage. He grunted and I almost hit my head on the window, but all Edward did was chuckle and pull my mouth back to his.

His kisses were thorough and slow and serious. The laughter between us faded quickly and I felt myself relaxing and shuddering and tensing all at once.

Sometime after Edward's tongue lapped deliberately at my pulse, his hands growing increasingly urgent at my hips, it occurred to what I was doing and where I was.

Making out. Backseat of a car.

I sucked on my bottom lip and ran my fingers through Edward's wet matted hair, letting his lips travel to the line of my collarbone. I felt a soft hum and gasped as his arms circled completely around me and dragged me tight against his chest.

This was new.

His head lolled back, his eyes darker and his breath heavier. His intense gaze momentarily mesmerized me, the way his mouth curled up into a tortured smirk. "You do know," he began in such a heated whisper I felt it burn right through me, "that your shirt is unbearably thin."

My heart pounded double against my ribs and my entire body went up in flames. I looked down and realized that _yes_, my shirt was soaked through and _no_, I was not wearing a damn bra because the shirt just didn't _call_ for one, or so I thought.

Dear God,

What the fuck.

Love,

Bella.

I stuttered. "Oh. Oh, I… uhm, I…"

"Please," Edward drawled. My stomach twisted up with nerves. He leaned forward and kissed directly over my scant cleavage. I think I might have died. "You don't have to cover up on my account."

My brain short-circuited. His eyes flicked up to mine, his fingers teasing the hem of my shirt in question.

I shivered and managed to nod.

Wait, did I just _nod_? Wait, _what_?

I had no time to think over my body's traitorous decision (that little hussy), because Edward's palms were sliding over a lot of bare skin and my arms were lifting to accommodate his ventures.

My wet hair slapped onto my back, Edward tossed my shirt to the side, and his eyes became very acquainted with my chest.

I shuddered in the cold air, trying to keep my arms from covering myself up. He looked quite… amazed.

I moved uncomfortably in his lap, digging my knees into the cushions. Edward's lips parted on a soft moan and _oh_.

Oh right. Because he was… and it was… I looked between us.

I could see him straining against his pants, and his hands turned so firm they were almost rough, his eyes full of promises and hazy liquid darkness.

I ran my hand through my damp heavy hair, sliding the wet strands from my shoulders. His gaze never moved, never deterred, and I felt like his prey for that long frightening moment, like at any second he would break our stare and take from me what I'd willingly give.

It occurred to me that here—_here_, in the backseat of Edward's car, shielded from the outside world by curtains of cold rain—I might have sex.

I might have sex with Edward, and I wanted it.

I wanted it as he shifted forward suddenly, as lethal as a predator, his strength rendering me completely immobile. His fingers dug deep into my thighs and he pulled me further onto his lap and I jumped when I felt him press near my center; I trembled when his lips feathered over the curve of my breasts.

I melted, shaking with fear and excitement, clutching hard at him in desire, but mostly just to have something to hold onto, mostly just to center my chaotic nerves.

His lips, still light and sensual, felt for my pulse. My body arced hard into his and for a swift moment I just wanted him to do whatever he wanted to me, inexperience be damned.

He hissed and bit my neck in punishment for the sudden erratic movement and I let out a breathy giggle.

"Are you afraid?" His voice was tender, careful, one of his hands reaching to knead my backside, to push me against him in little maddening strokes.

Oh god, oh god. I wilted over him, falling into a little heap around his shoulders, because my body was reacting too fiercely and I needed to just calm down. "Terrified," I muttered, my cheeks flaming. Edward stretched his knees out and everything was just too _aligned_ for my fragile temperament.

"We don't have to do anything," he whispered, but I could hear the heat in his voice. I could _feel_ how much he wanted to keep going.

"I want to," I blurted out. "I'm scared, but I want to."

I would for Edward.

He hesitated and I wanted him to say _okay_ and I wanted him to say _no, this is too soon_. I wanted him to gingerly push me away and I wanted him to… yeah. _That_.

"I don't want you to be nervous with me," he finally murmured.

"No matter what, I'll be nervous," my hormones argued.

"I don't have anything," he admitted.

"I'm on the pill." Thank you, irregular periods.

At that, Edward exhaled choppily, tortuously, and I felt it against my chest. I felt his hips roll up into mine and I whimpered. I cursed the clothing between us.

"Is this what you _want_?" His voice suddenly had an unhinged edge, and I was scared all over again.

"Wh—what?" He grunted softly and I wanted to tell him to just stop talking and _do_ what _he_ wanted, for god's sake, _please_.

"The backseat of my car? Like this?"

Sure, it wasn't very romantic and it was quite cliché, but this was something I could get over. I wasn't that worried about the location. "As long as it's you," I mumbled.

I felt the rumbling of his groan. I felt the pads of his fingers as they slipped underneath my jeans, my underwear. My entire body rubbed against his on instinct. I bit my lips to stifle the shameful begging that threatened to escape.

And just like that, I felt Edward feeling one-handedly, eagerly for his zipper.

Holy shit. I might have begun hyperventilating.

* * *

**A few notes on the chapter:**

Yes, it did stop there.

Yes, I _am_ evil.

I've actually been to Forks recently (last February), and while we were driving from Port Angeles (where we ate at Bella Italia; they didn't have mushroom ravioli but I did get some sort of ravioli… I don't remember haha) to Forks, there's this long winding road (with like eighty squiggly road warning signs) that overlooks Lake Crescent (finally, the point of this sentence) and it was, and I do not jest, one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. If someone brought me there for a date he would certainly get a second one. I'd recommend you Google it or something, but the pictures don't do it an ounce of justice.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** 500 reviews! *dances*

So… here. LMAO. Enjoy? This is uhm, a smutty chapter.

* * *

I was going to have sex.

_Sex_.

My stomach caved, the valves of my heart strained with the sudden deafening pulse of racing blood. For one high floating moment I leaned back, feeling each minute brush of Edward's fingers against my tummy as they worked over his rough jeans.

I touched the wrist connected to the fingers he had buried deep into my flesh, as if at any moment I'd try to escape him.

I wanted to brush back the flopping bang that the rain had matted against his forehead. I wanted to still the moment for just one second so I could breathe.

He struggled over the zipper and the artificial calm wrapping me in a warm cocoon released a hot trickle down my spine, all the way down to… other places. The sound of unhooking metal sounded harsh and unnaturally loud.

Edward popped open the button with much less trouble, his breathing erratic, and his eyes filmed over and bright.

His boxers were black. Without the constraints, the tip of him strained the elastic waistband; his shirttails obscured the rest.

He reached for me, his suddenly unsteady palm flattening over my shoulder.

I sucked in air. His thumb trembled slightly as it rested on my collarbone.

My lashes fluttered; it was just an innocent touch in theory—but there was possessiveness in the way his fingers curled so carefully over my skin, something about the soft caress that meant so much more than physical pleasure.

He slid his hand down and I pushed forward into him, holding onto his waist.

The points of his knuckles traced between my cleavage, turning just so to follow a certain curving line. I shuddered; I gasped. I leaned forward to rest my forehead against his.

His labored breath mingled with mine.

_Just touch me_, I wanted to scream.

Instead he took my arm in his hand and gripped it tightly.

"Bella," he whispered, and tilted his head up. Our noses nudged and under any other circumstance I might have cracked a smile.

I could only feel for the buttons on his shirt and undo them, slowly and nervously, one by one.

The cotton was scratchy, but his skin was smooth; his chest hair tickled my digits with each exhale.

Edward splayed a hand over my spine and ran it up and down, to my neck and back again. His lips touched my cheek and he hummed gently when I pushed the cloth from his shoulders.

"We don't have to do this here," he murmured.

I wanted to ask where we could do it. Outside in the rain? A cheap motel room? In one of our rooms, finishing too quickly to not to get caught?

No. _Here_.

"Here, Edward." I breathed the words, trying to mask the falsity of my bravado.

This was perfect. There was nothing in the world that could be more perfect than this.

I pulled back, my legs cramped and weak as I stood, my back contouring against the roof.

Edward's half-lidded eyes watched my every movement, so unsure but willing.

I felt for the button of my jeans, but he stilled me—inclining forward, his lips parted and one of his hands sliding and cupping the apex of my thighs. His fingers curled upwards, gently, touching me _there_.

My hips rocked back instinctively and my head thudded softly against the roof. It took me a moment to realize I had let out a pitiful little whimper and Edward was staring at me, completely mesmerized.

"I want to," he said.

I definitely wanted to, too.

I blushed when his other hand reached for my zipper, realizing what he meant.

My heart lodged in my throat; I was afraid to move as he released me from my clothing. His touch was light, exceedingly careful—such a change from mere minutes ago.

He tugged at the hem of my jeans, sliding them past my hips. I watched his darting eyes, intensely switching from me to his hands as if he was waiting for me to say stop, the apple in his throat bobbing.

It made me feel better knowing that he was nervous too.

I kicked the fabric off my feet when it fell to my ankles, careful not to knee Edward in the face and completely ruin everything.

I almost let out a choked hysterical laugh at the thought, but he reached to hold my hips and I stopped thinking anything.

Oh god. Oh crap, I was going to have sex.

My mouth was too dry. I steadied myself on Edward's shoulders—bare, pale, strong shoulders—and slipped my legs around his lap.

I sat back on his knees, clenching my thighs involuntarily when he dragged a caress over my waist and down my inner thigh. I was glad he wasn't staring at my uncovered skin; so glad he had locked my gaze. I blushed just thinking about my bared body.

"Still scared?" His voice was thick; his eyes were tender—I could see the little light obscured by rain reflecting in the pupils of those telling orbs.

"I'd be less scared if you'd distract me," I answered, but it didn't sound sexy or seductive or anything like I had wanted it to—it just sounded small and anxious.

He smiled, and I felt it everywhere. He pulled me forward, much like before—his arms encircling me, squeezing me against him.

I grabbed fistfuls of his hair and closed my eyes as our skin touched, as his lips kissed the hollow of my throat. I tipped my head down and breathed him in—all rain and shampoo and Edward.

"Just tell me if you want to stop, okay?"

"Okay," I conceded, even though I wouldn't.

I'd never say no.

His neck arced back, his mouth brushing my chin and seeking my lips. The kiss was sweet and slow and stirred me—beckoned me, trapped me.

One of his arms loosened, one of his hands dropped over my bottom, reaching, and then his fingers were—_oh_.

His tongue lapped the top row of my teeth, his breath hot and moist.

Some strange sound erupted from my throat; my body tingled and I wriggled down, caging his hand and pressing into his lap. And he was—and I was—I bit his bottom lip instinctively, gently on a moan.

He pulled me up and slid his body down, until his mouth was at my breasts, licking and nipping and—just encouraging a lot of thoughts any good girl shouldn't be having—just pulling down every fear and barrier and uncertainty I had for a few blissful damn distracting moments.

And his touch was _everywhere_, and his fingers were _moving_, and he was grunting and I was making too much noise. His beard scratched and reddened my skin and I didn't care, I couldn't care—I just wanted more.

"Edward…" I gasped and curled around him. "Please, now. I'm ready now…"

I must have been crazy—too comfortable in my insanity—because I reached back and grabbed him urgently, whispering "now" over and over again, my lips parting in wonder as he threw his head back, his eyes closed and a harsh "fuck, Bella" escaping him.

I had never been more turned on by profanity.

He bucked into my hand, once, twice, and oh god—he was… I pulled back his boxers and felt the velvet skin, watching wondrously as his body started to writhe beneath me.

Suddenly he grabbed the back of my head and opened his eyes and I was nearly undone by the heat in his gaze; I could do nothing but melt as he pulled my mouth to his.

Even before he pulled my hand away and guided himself, slipping along my wet folds, I knew I was already his. Even as he pushed carefully, gently up inside me, pulling away to stare into my eyes and gauge the pain and pleasure rippling across my features, I knew a thousand times over that I loved him and he loved me and that was all that mattered.

It hurt. It burned. I let out a strangled little cry and his hands slid over and massaged my tensed body, his eyes flashing, his movements stilling.

"It's okay," he murmured.

A sheen of sweat formed over my body, my eyes filled with pricking tears. I concentrated on his and the stressed beads of water starting to dot his forehead.

He looked down to our crushed bodies and exhaled shakily. I felt him move slightly to brace his feet. I watched the routine clenching of his jaw in fascination and felt a rush of determination.

I leaned back, trembling, chomping down on my bottom lip hard because the movement brought him deeper.

I whimpered and I lowered myself completely, my lungs bottoming—but I heard Edward's long groan followed by a stream of gasps, his hands wrapping hard around my thighs, and just his reactive insistence made me feel smug.

I leaned forward and pressed against his chest, darting my tongue out to lick his parted lips. His palms contoured over my back to my shoulders and his hips rolled up in a hesitant stroke, and then another.

"Does it…?" he forced out, his words lost.

Does it hurt? Yes. Did I just do that too fast? Probably. Am I going to tell you to stop? No.

"Don't stop," I breathed, and turned my face into his neck, slowly relaxing as he pushed into me, over and over. His lips rested on my shoulder, one of his hands reaching between us.

His thumb pressed the little hidden nub above our joined bodies and I felt a flash of heat and then another as his touch began to circle. His teeth scraped my shoulder and this time when he filled me it started to feel… good.

I wriggled gently into his hand, gasping as he filled me completely and stilled, rolling his hips with a soft grunt.

"Good?" he asked breathlessly into my ear. His voice certainly helped make it better.

I leaned back and balanced myself on his chest, pulling up on my knees. His brows furrowed; his eyes were cloudy and dark.

When my head touched the roof, I sat back down, slowly this time—readjusting. My entire body began to tighten, but it wasn't because it hurt this time. The ache was there, but so was the pleasure.

I did it again, and again, biting my lip when he began to meet my thrusts.

We were actually…

I cupped his jaw, my lashes fluttering. Every part of me was starting to hum and shiver and warm.

The tips of his fingers touched my lips, dragged down to my chin, my neck, over my collarbones, down the curve of my waist. His neck curved over the seat, his eyes half-closed, watching me intensely. My thumbs rubbed the scruff along his jaw and suddenly his hand was _there_ again and my toes curled a little, my knees shook.

And then my head knocked against the roof and Edward let out a half-chuckle and a half-moan.

Ugh, oh my god. I wanted to die of embarrassment. My face flushed with heat and I slapped his shoulder as he gathered me close and leaned forward, resting my back against the front seat.

"You okay?" he asked breathlessly, still moving into me.

It made me a little breathless too. "Shut up. Just shut up." I closed my eyes and looked away, and then sighed when he tugged me to him, his lips against my flushed cheek.

"My pleasure," he whispered. He laid back and brought me with him, holding me tight against his torso. For a long while he just moved with me, completely devoid of any words and taking my coherency with him.

It didn't take long after that for his breathing to start shuddering and his thrusts to turn a little more and more erratic.

It didn't take long until I was biting down hard on his shoulder and trying to muffle every connected moan, my nerves hyper aware of Edward and the upholstery my nails were digging into and his tongue swirling at my pulse and his touch incessantly trying to bring me higher and higher.

One jolt rushed into my body and then the next, and the next, before I finally let go, crying out and tightening around him so hard it nearly hurt. He pushed up with a lost groan and I felt him…

I whimpered and Edward stilled, his breath tickling my skin with a content _whoosh_.

For a moment—I couldn't move. I couldn't think or speak or do anything but close my eyes, and I'm pretty sure neither could he.

And then he whispered my name, pressing his lips from my neck to my cheek and back again, slowly, lazily. I detached my mouth from him, blushing at the mark I'd left. I… sort of broke the skin in some places. A little.

"Uhm. Sorry," I muttered. His hands cupped the back of my neck and he pressed his mouth to mine, silencing my apology.

His kiss told me he didn't care about much about it. In fact, his kiss told me to shut up.

So I did.

* * *

"I think I like the rain."

Edward's breath was steady and deep underneath my cheek. I smiled at the tempo of his beating heart and snuggled closer.

"I thought you hated the rain," he replied, pressing me closer.

"I think after tonight, I love the rain." I looked up at his bemused lazy grin and beamed.

He was lying half on his back, sprawled across the backseat, his feet propped up on the window. My leg was hooked around his waist, and one of his arms was holding me to his torso, keeping me from rolling to a heap to the floor.

It wasn't exactly comfortable for either of us. In fact, the whole prior experience hadn't been exactly in the best of positions, but—oh, shucks. Who was I kidding? I didn't give a crap if my knees were aching or the crown of my head was a little sore after getting… a little too excited.

I had pretty much rocked Edward Cullen's world and vice versa, so I'd deal with the bruises happily. Really fucking happily. Even the soreness. _Especially_ the soreness.

Oh my god, Edward Cullen had made me a woman.

I was still kind of spinning from it.

"You're absolutely adorable," he said through his grin, leaning over to nuzzle into my neck.

Whoever said men got distant after sex was a big fat stupid liar. I don't think Edward had stopped complimenting and touching me since… I blushed at the thought. Well, _since_.

"…and sexy," he added, nipping at my jaw.

I laughed and hid my burning face against his bare chest, bringing up the cuffs of his sleeves to frame my cheeks.

I was wearing his shirt, just because. Anyway, he looked better without it.

"Liar," I muttered.

"Well, Bella," he drawled, nudging his nose to my forehead. I leaned back, letting out a soft giggle when he kissed my lips chastely. "My memory says differently."

"Oh yeah, because injuring myself was so sexy." I rolled my eyes pointedly, but I couldn't erase my smile.

I was pretty sure nothing could erase my smile for a long time.

Edward chuckled and kissed my head. "Oh Bella… I was _very_ distracted at the time."

"Oh, were you?" I teased back, scrunching my nose and narrowing my eyes.

I also couldn't stop blushing.

"Oh, I was," he sighed, and then his mouth was covering mine.

His tongue nudged mine and my heavily sated body piqued with sudden interest. Whoa there. Maybe I _was_ a hussy. His lips detoured to massage beneath my jaw and I felt a wave of laughter shake my body.

"What's so funny?" He pulled back, his mouth curling up into a confused smile.

I covered my mouth and shook my head, turning into his chest.

"What?" he repeated on a chuckle. He held my shoulder and I kept shaking my head.

"Nothing," I finally managed to reply. "Nothing. Shut up."

"What is it with you telling me to shut up tonight?" he sputtered out, but he only sounded amused.

"Nothing, I just…" I leaned back to look into his dancing eyes. "I don't know. I just… I didn't think it would be like that."

"Like what?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know…" I blushed. "Good?"

"You thought I'd be bad?"

"_No_." He laughed when I punched his chest lightly. "I just—I'm… I'm really happy, Edward."

I probably couldn't have said anything cheesier, but Edward's huge grin fell into a small smile; the emerald of his eyes softened, but the brightness in them burned brighter. "I'm happy too," he nodded.

My heart swelled in my chest. _Swelled_. I was all about clichés tonight.

"You should seduce me more often," he added.

"Okay, but next time there will be a bed involved."

* * *

Edward dropped me off at precisely five to midnight.

I was still swimming in his shirt, my blouse folded and tucked safely into my bag. His lips were curled up into a knowing smile; his eyes trailed from mine to my body and back again.

I grinned and tugged on the chords of the hoodie he found in the backseat, letting him kiss me one last time. Lord knows Charlie wouldn't want to see it at the front door.

I grimaced inwardly. I did a lot of things Charlie would not approve of tonight. Oops?

He ended the kiss slowly, hovering close and holding my cheeks with a soft sigh. "I love you, Bella," he whispered.

I closed my eyes and placed my hands over his. I definitely felt loved. "I love you too, Edward."

He kissed me again and then pulled away, opening his door. This time I managed to open mine before he could, and I grinned triumphantly as he held out a hand for me.

"Impressive," he complimented.

"Always am." I stuck up my nose and let him help me out, closing the door pointedly.

"Yes you are," he retorted.

I leaned against his side and immediately spun around when we reached the doorstep, throwing my arms around him.

He was warm and solid and mine. I sighed and smiled mischievously when he leaned over to my ear and whispered, "Your dad's watching from the window."

Playfully I nipped the approximate spot where I bit his skin. He growled quietly and kissed my cheek.

"Thanks, Edward," I said, almost snorting, "for a lovely night."

"I'll see you in the morning," he responded indifferently.

I laughed quietly and stepped back, reaching blindly for the doorknob. "'Night, Edward." I winked.

"Good night." He smirked.

* * *

**Notes on the chapter:**

-I know. Seriously, nothing really happened in this one besides shameless smut and gooiness. I doubt you guys mind too much, but the next chapter will contain more plot, lmao.

-I was totally going to be evil and have all the UST build up and then ~nothing~. Bella would have stopped. But it turns out Bella has a mind of her own and my Edward is very accommodating to her, being a strapping young teenager. (AKA horny.)

-I know some of you didn't want Bella to give up her virtue in the back of a car and basically begged me not to let it happen… but I imagine Bella would blush and tell you to mind your own beeswax before hiding underneath Edward's arm and wondering if she really _is_ a hussy. Don't do that to her, okay? She's insecure. :P

-No, really, I get it haha. But Bella isn't known for looking too far into the future with a clear lens and I assure you Edward and Bella will face the consequences of perhaps going too fast. AND BEFORE ANYONE ASKS THESE CONSEQUENCES DO NOT INCLUDE UNPLANNED PREGNANCY OR VENEREAL DISEASES, kay. If I ever write a fic in which Bella gets pregnant or Edward gets Chlamydia, it'll be because someone broke into my account and did it for me.

-LOVE.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** WELL HELLO. It's been awhile, I know. :) I was suffering a block and then decided to stop working. Buuuutttt, here's a chapter. I hate it, but my wonderful beta tells me it's good, so I shall listen to her. BETA KNOWS BEST.

Thank you for all the reviews in the meantime. :) I LOVE YOU GUYS.

* * *

I could not wait for Edward to pick me up the next morning.

It was all sorts of pathetic. I had showered last night and done a load of laundry so I could return his shirt clean, but that morning, despite finally getting to bed around one a.m., I was up at five. And to make matters worse, I settled on the couch when I couldn't fall back asleep, his shirt wrapped around me, the collar against my nose.

It smelled like… us.

Edward was picking me up at eight.

I closed my tired heavy eyes and rested my head against the cushions.

I had it so bad.

Around six I went upstairs and changed into jeans and a new shirt only to head right back down to the couch. With a heave I threw myself face down into one of the throw pillows.

Did I mention during this entire time the only thing I thought about was the backseat of Edward's car? Because I did. In flashes of explicit detail.

Very explicit. Rated R explicit. XXX.

I muffled a groan into a flower pattern.

Edward and his hands and lips, and his… oh god. Had I been drunk? I was drunk, right? Was I drugged?

I twisted my neck, my burning cheek turning up.

No, I had just… had sex. And I could still feel the ache in my thighs.

I didn't regret it—I didn't regret it one bit. It had been… well, wonderful. And beautiful. And a lot of other cheesy adjectives. And really really good.

But it also meant that… I wasn't sure what it meant, but this meant things were different. I had jumped over a hurdle. Edward and I had taken our whole relationship to the next level.

Had Edward jumped over a hurdle? I realized with growing panic that Ihad_ no idea_.

I was a virgin. Or at least, last night I was a virgin. Was Edward a virgin? Had he ever been with anyone else before? For fuck's sake, his best friend used to be Emmett. Oh my god. Oh my god.

Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

Just because somebody used to talk to Emmett on a regular basis did not mean the entire cheerleading team got busy with this particular person frequently.

This did _not_ mean _that_. I was definitely 100% overreacting.

I breathed.

This did not mean anything. This just meant that a talk about sex with Edward must be had at a later date.

Really. I bet that Edward was just as virginal as I was. Yup. No worries. He was treated like the town leper, for goodness sake.

Some evil possessive part of me was happy for a very guilty moment, if only because that meant girls stayed away from him.

Uh huh. I was evil.

As punishment I pinched myself, wincing at the sting.

Stupid Bella.

It was bad enough I had lied to my dad again after promising I wouldn't. Okay, so it was a fib concocted in three seconds flat after Charlie noticed my change in wardrobe, but still.

It wasn't that big of a leap to believe I spilled my dinner on my shirt. In all honesty even if it wasn't true, it certainly _could_ be. Right?

But it was still… I mean, it was… it was for Edward. And myself. I wasn't sure which of us Charlie would kill first if he ever found out.

Okay, that's a lie. He'd go straight for Edward.

I sighed and peeked at the time. Only thirty minutes had passed. Thirty minutes to go.

Despite my worry, guilt and slight panic, I was more than ready to see Edward again.

But I really hoped we weren't taking the Volvo. If Carlisle was coming with us, that would be pretty fucking awkward.

The time passed by excruciatingly slow, yet when the doorbell rang three minutes to eight, I flinched a little. And then I nearly tripped over the armrest lunging for the doorknob.

I did not want Charlie to wake up.

The door whipped open, I saw Edward's mess of hair and smiling eyes, and I jumped into his arms with the force of a battering ram. He stumbled back, letting out a surprised (and, I noted, pleased) note of laughter.

"Bella," he greeted.

I was two seconds away from wrapping my legs around his waist and demanding he let me act as his own personal keychain for the entire day.

"Edward." I kissed his jaw and leaned back to get a better look at him.

Gorgeous, check. Scruff, check. Huge I-totally-got-laid-last-night grin, check.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded and stretched back to find the doorknob. I bit my lip when Edward leaned forward to shut it for me, his arm securely around my waist.

"Ready." I nodded zealously.

His mouth curled up into a thin-lipped smile and for a few moments he looked curiously down at me. I played absentmindedly with the buttons on his shirt, realizing after a moment that I was still wearing his over my tank top.

Maybe I should have felt self-conscious under his intense scrutiny, but I wasn't. That didn't stop me from blushing because of other reasons, however. Like Triple X memories that were one thousand times more amplified by his presence.

He finally moved, his mouth resting just above my ear. I sighed and shifted into him, my lashes fluttering closed.

"Sometimes with the Heart / Seldom with the soul / Scarcer once with the Might / Few—love at all," he said quietly.

For the first time, I didn't quite get it. "Huh?" I breathed against his neck.

"I was just thinking," he explained, pulling back and pushing my hair back with his fingers, "how lucky I am."

That swelling thing started happening again, only this time it spread everywhere. "Do you know every one of her poems by heart?" I asked, ignoring the flames in the tips of my cheeks.

Edward cupped my face, his thumbs brushing over the red-tinted heat there. "Only the ones that'll get me laid," he joked, smirking.

I choked out a laugh. "Oh well, I think it works."

His lips pressed against mine softly, carefully, for an instant.

"Let's go." He smiled and took my hand, leading me down the walkway. After a moment of staring, I observed with relief that the car was a black Mercedes, and Carlisle was in the driver's seat.

Then I wondered if he had been watching our entire exchange and sort of wanted to dig a hole in my front yard and bury my head into it.

Edward opened the backseat door for me and licked his smiling lips. "I thought we could sit in the back together."

I blinked up at him with wide eyes. He was trying to kill me.

"Uhm. Okay," I replied. I slid into the leather seat and smiled at Carlisle.

"Good morning, Bella," he said politely. "We were going to pick up breakfast at the diner to take on the road. Did you want something?"

Edward slipped in next to me with a very inappropriate look in his eyes. Somehow, between last night and this morning, I had created an evil sex fiend out of my adorable unassuming boyfriend.

"I'm not that hungry," I declined.

* * *

I went into the diner with Edward (despite my lack of appetite) to grab breakfast while Carlisle ran to Safeway for some snacks.

As it turned out, I completely forgot until we were in the diner that Jessica worked there. And was working. Currently. Behind the counter.

Ew.

"Hi Jess," I said tentatively, smiling thinly.

I wasn't quite sure why I was still civil to her. Something about laws against homicide…?

She sneered and looked down at Edward's hand clasped in mine like it was something disgusting. A clogged drain or a hairball, perhaps.

"Bella," she said in a cursory manner. She didn't even acknowledged Edward.

Edward, who staring very steadily at the cash register with that stomach-bottoming blank look in his eyes.

Maybe it was because I knew now—that I knew completely and totally the extent in which he did not deserve the treatment Jess was dishing out… Maybe it was because I hated that he took it as if he did… Maybe it was just because I loved him and I knew he loved me… but I couldn't take it.

I tugged him forward and leaned against the counter, bringing our hands below my chin. I gave her my best bitch face. "_Edward_ and I are picking up breakfast." I paused for emphasis. "You know Edward, right?"

I knew very well that she was familiar with Edward. I glanced over at his stoic expression and detected a bit of hesitance, a bit of red in his cheeks. I wanted to kiss the wrinkle around his lips and tell him this would be over in a painless second.

Jessica stared back at me like I had just slapped down a bleeding dead pig between us and asked for a ham sandwich. "_Yes_. What's your point, Bella?"

Jackpot.

"My point is you know Edward, so you should be a little polite, wipe that look off your face, and say hi. And then ask us for our order."

Jessica gaped at me for exactly five seconds. I counted. And then she snapped back. "Who do you think you are?"

"I'm _Bella_, remember?" I clarified, feeling a sneer on my own face. "I'm not getting anything, but Carlisle wants a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a roll," I continued, my jaw clenched tight. "Edward, what did you want again?"

He wanted the same thing, only no bacon and hash browns.

Edward looked alarmed. And a bit floored. "You don't have to do this," he said quietly.

"Well, you have to eat." I ignored the true intent in his words. "Jess, Edward wants an egg and cheese sandwich with hash browns on it."

Her face was the color of a fire truck. For a moment, I thought Jessica was going to explode and ruin the homey wallpaper. "I'm not making anything for either of you, you stupid whore."

I didn't even have the chance to call her a petty bitch, because suddenly Edward's shoulder was blocking my view of Jessica.

And he didn't look shocked anymore.

In fact, the vein on his forehead was bulging and that was never good.

"You don't have to _make_ it, you just have to write the order in, you insipid moron," he explained, his voice low and threatening. Jessica went pale white. "And if you ever call Bella _anything_ but her name again, I'll do everything in my power to make your life a living hell, got it?"

Jessica gaped like a fish. An ugly bitchy fish.

I smirked.

Edward turned on his heel, his face a mask of rage. He did it so fast I was sure he missed Jess' frightened nod and my dropping expression.

He reclaimed his hand and walked straight to the entrance. The signaling bell rattled fiercely, the frame of the door hit the wall with a brutal thud. His hands reached deep into his pockets and he turned right, towards Safeway.

I forgot all about Jessica. My heart dropped into my stomach.

I rushed after him, ignoring the unnaturally cool breeze that greeted me. "Edward?" I called.

He stopped a few yards away; he hadn't been walking fast. I saw his shoulders drop with a sigh, his eyes on the ground. I bit my lip and he turned halfway to face me.

"It's not fucking worth it, Bella," he said wearily. "You can't _make_ anyone…" He shook his head, trailing off. "Just don't."

"Don't what?"

Don't care? Don't stand up for him when he decided not to? Watch idly by as he was ridiculed, hated and spat at?

I love Edward, but he could be kind of stupid at times.

"Don't try to make this _better_, okay?" He ground out.

"I can't do this anymore, Edward." The words left me before I could understand that they were true. "I can watch everyone hate you, but I can't watch you just take it, especially now. I love you too much." My voice choked over the words.

"_I'm. Not. Ready_," he said succinctly, slowly, his lips deliberately pronouncing each syllable.

I looked down from the flaring fury in his eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

I felt a wave of shame and defeat. I felt it trying to drown me.

But a part of me, a struggling screaming fighting part of me knew this was all bullshit. This—_this_, right here—wasn't about his mom. This was about him. This was about avoiding the subject and not dealing with the crap he more than welcomed in. This was about keeping his scary wretched façade up to keep people out. This was about punishing himself.

And I couldn't help it—my fists closed with a rush of anger I wanted to forbid myself to feel. Because all I could think was—_coward_.

And that was the last thing I wanted to think about Edward—but the illusion of his perfection had been scrubbed away somehow, and for a moment all I saw was the fear in his angry eyes.

He sighed and stalked forward, his hand rising to skim down my arm and clasp my fingers. I felt the pressure of his grasp, but I didn't _feel_ it. "I'm sorry." His apology rang hollow. I stared at the hollow of his throat.

He was acting like a coward and I was furious about it—near to the point of irrationality. I knew why. I knew that all of my anger was suddenly finding a focus, however undeserving some of it might be.

"Edward," I said softly. My eyes trailed up to his. "Sometimes life doesn't wait until you're ready."

There was no fury in my voice, but there was life. He must have seen it flashing in my eyes, because his narrowed slightly and his lips thinned. "Relentless," he muttered under his breath, as if reminding himself what I was.

"A bit, yes," I said sharply. I held his hand tighter even though I wanted to throw it to his side. "But not without reason."

"We talked about this yesterday, Bella," he chided me in a calm tone, but the annoyance was in his eyes.

"No, this is different," I said with conviction. "This isn't about your mom. This is about _you_."

He took a menacing step forward, and I almost shrunk back, but instead I raised my chin defiantly. My heart stuttered in my chest; my anger grew. His intimidation tactics only gave me more confidence—because that meant he was on the defensive, and if he was on the defensive, that meant he was panicking and I was right.

"This has _nothing_ to do with me."

"Who was the one who admitted they were punishing themselves because of this, Edward?" I leaned towards him, my head cocking to the side. His eyes immediately looked past my ear; the apex of his jaw clenched. "You never had to lie down and take it. You don't want people to know about your mom, fine. But there's no reason to put up with people like Jessica treating you like shit."

By the time I'd spat the words, tears were choking my voice and Edward was stone still.

"You think this is being chivalrous? You think letting people ridicule makes anything better? It _doesn't_. It's just admitting _defeat_." I sucked in air, suffocated by his silence.

I watched his chest shake with the effort of breath, and I saw the crippling anger and agony in his eyes before they closed.

The spider web of his lashes touched his cheek. I breathed in his exhale and touched his chest—because no matter what, my body begged to comfort him and because his warmth comforted me.

"You think I'm a coward?" His lips formed around the words, but his teeth stayed locked. I flushed at the direct question, at the ripping pain in the words.

I felt too shamed to answer yes, but I didn't have to.

"I am _not_ a coward," he said fiercely, and the green of his eyes burned me. His hand around mine hurt.

I wanted to say something—I wanted to compel him to prove it, because I knew by the look in his eyes he would. I wanted to tell him to back off because he was scaring me. I wanted to tell him to calm down, but I could do nothing.

Because he was passing me and dragging me back into the diner with such frightening determination I could only follow.

He stopped at the counter. Jessica was scrolling through her phone, but something about her tense posture told me she had been watching us through the window the entire time. She had no choice but to look up when Edward stopped right in front of her.

She held his gaze for a mere second and then dropped it to the ground.

Edward's hand came down on the counter top. "We'd like our food," he said in a voice too quiet to fit his mood.

Jessica glanced at me briefly and rushed over to the kitchen window to scribble down the orders.

* * *

The car ride to Seattle was filled only with the music Carlisle put on. Edward scowled out the window and I tried not to stare worriedly at him.

I had meant what I said—but I had not prepared for this reaction, or any reaction at all, considering I hadn't planned on saying anything in the first place. And I didn't know how to fix it.

After the first fifteen minutes of awkward forced conversation, it became increasingly obvious to both Carlisle and me that Edward was in no mood to talk.

After the first hour of silence, I had resigned myself to watching the passing scenery, replaying the morning over and over again in my head. I fought back the tears and the sorrow and the fear threatening to pull me under.

I was right. I believed it. Edward was being cowardly… but I had also been wrong, because I didn't think he was a coward. He was misleading himself; he was confused and didn't know what to do and where to turn, and in his desperation he had settled into a cycle of self-deprivation. Edward was a passive person, but he was not a coward.

And I made a huge mistake letting him believe I thought so little of him.

We made a short rest stop a bit past Port Angeles at a gas station. Carlisle got out of the car to fill the tank and Edward stared at the back of his empty armrest.

"So are we not talking now?" I asked in a small voice, picking at a loose thread on his shirt.

"I'm thinking," he said with an edge of hostility.

The heat in the words compelled me to glance over, but his eyes skirted away from mine. I felt like my entire body started to ache. I felt frustration tearing down my control. "I don't think you're a coward, Edward," I choked out. I placed a hand between us and felt my insides crumble when he looked sidelong at my offering and ignored it.

He rested his mouth against the back of his knuckles. "I am a coward," he said simply. "You should think I am."

My breathing picked up. I felt a dizzying flash of something, and suddenly I was reaching across the space separating us and grabbing his hand to pull it from his face.

I was thankful that Carlisle probably couldn't see into the darkly tinted windows and a reckless part of me didn't care if he could. I launched myself at Edward, grabbing his face to hold it still while I kissed him.

It was hard and short and it was only pleasant because it was Edward's slightly parted lips against mine.

I threaded my fingers through his hair when his hands came down to rest on my shoulders and let all my anger and love infuse into the roughness of my lips on his. I pulled back to look into his shocked eyes and hissed, "_Stop punishing yourself_."

His brows furrowed. His lips stilled. Only the minute narrowing of his eyes gave me any clue to what he was thinking—his eyes, and his hands reaching to cup the back of my neck.

"Don't you get it?" I pleaded desperately, stroking the scratching scruff on his jaw, leading my touch back into his locks and grabbing handfuls in fists. "You think you're a coward, Edward? Well, the only way to not be a coward is to _stop looking _for reasons to feel _sorry_ for yourself and just face the _truth_: Something horrible is happening to your mother and you're doing the best you can."

"It's not good enough," he responded on a short angry gasp.

"You're good enough," I whispered, and his eyes glazed over. I touched my lips to his and this time he pulled me to him tight after a hesitant moment. This time he kissed me back.

* * *


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note:** GRETA, YOU ARE GREAT. Haha, get it?? Because Greta and great…? **crickets chirp****…taps mic** Is this thing on?

PFFT you guys are awesome. Thanks for making me believe I can write again, haha. LOVE YOU GUYS, ENJOY.

* * *

By the time Carlisle was back in the car, I had decided the middle was a lot more comfortable than the window seat. Especially considering I was plastered against Edward's side, my head resting against his chest. And his arm around my shoulders.

He shot a surprised look at our change in demeanors and position, but said nothing of it. Instead he gave us a small smile and started the car.

I let out a sigh of relief.

The anger was all but drained from me; I closed my eyes and breathed in Edward.

I was scattered—I didn't know what to think or what Edward was thinking, and we couldn't talk about it now. A part of me wasn't sure I wanted to talk about it immediately. I certainly knew Edward didn't want to.

His arm was loose around me and he kept his gaze out the window, but this time it wasn't out of spite.

I angled my head up, just enough to peek at his pensive expression, the frown on his lips deepening with each second.

I bit my lip and snuggled closer to him. And everything had been going so well, I thought dryly—even though I knew that wasn't the truth.

Hadn't this always been a problem? I could only hope bringing it up hadn't made it worse.

He squeezed me, the actions bringing my attention back to him—and suddenly I was drowning in the soft guilt in his wide eyes, the yearning glimmering in emerald irises.

My lips parted and I lifted my fingers instinctively to touch his jaw. His lashes fluttered and his jaw set; I dragged the touch all the way down to the tip of his chin.

Playfully, I pressed my thumb there and tried to smile, tried to offset the heart-breakingly sad look in his eyes. He only took my hand in his and pressed his lips to the center of my palm, the space between his brows arching.

He hugged me, pulling me against him. I buried my face into his opposite shoulder, surprised at the sudden warmth rolling off of him in waves. I could do nothing but accept it, closing my eyes tight when his lips touched my ear, his voice low and rushed and just quiet enough that I could hear.

"I love you. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve you at all," he whispered. I wanted to protest, but I was afraid Carlisle would notice, and I was too embarrassed to check if he was seeing this anyway. "Every time you try to help me all I do is _hurt_ you. But _god_, Bella, you just keep believing in me."

I snorted softly, because he made it seem easier than it was.

I felt his lips quirk. "I'm sorry," he professed breathlessly. "I don't deserve you, but I'll be the stupidest fucking asshole in the world if I push you away."

He pulled back, his body trembling softly with the effort of keeping me close. He looked straight out the window, but I saw the passion of his words filling his eyes; I felt it in the way he was holding me. He was trying to be casual, but his hands at my shoulder and my waist were too intimate; his breath was too shallow.

And that was Edward, a.k.a. Mr. Control. _I_ was the complete opposite of casual. I wasn't sure if I wanted to smack him for scaring me with his mood swings, cry, or ravage him. And I'm sure it showed.

Especially because my gaze was stricken on his features like he was growing two heads and an extra eye.

Eventually my shock settled, and my upset nerves calmed enough that I rested my head back on his shoulder. I noted that Carlisle was looking _very_ pointedly ahead.

I closed my eyes after awhile, soothed by Edward's rising chest and the car's smooth ride, Debussy playing melodically from the radio.

It was only after some time that I heard Edward and Carlisle speaking from far away, and it was only after I became conscious that I realized I had fallen asleep at all.

I knew I should have gotten more sleep.

"…I didn't mean it like that, Edward."

Carlisle, my wakening mind processed. I had the presence to keep my breathing rhythmic and deep as I resurfaced.

Look, I'm not perfect, okay. Eavesdropping is totally acceptable as long as you don't get caught.

"I know." I felt Edward's sigh. I felt his fingers absently twirling my hair around his fingers. I let an indescribably pleasant shiver run down my neck and into my spine, the kind that made me want to nuzzle into him and purr like an overgrown cat. "I'm sorry, dad."

"No…" Carlisle sighed. "This is my fault." They were definitely cut from the same cloth. "Edward… this isn't fair to you."

He dropped one of my curls for another one. I could hear the defeat on his voice. "That's what Bella says."

"And she's _right_." There was a pause. It was annoying without the visual aid to confirm, but I was 95% sure it was a frustrated pause. "Edward… as your father—and I know… son, I _hate_ that I haven't even been… I haven't even acted like your father lately…"

I felt a chill my bones. "Dad, don't," Edward whispered.

Carlisle sucked in a shuddering breath. "I just want what's best for you."

I had never seen a grown man cry. Or rather, up until that moment, I have never heard a grown man cry. I was 70% sure Carlisle might have been crying. Or near tears.

"I want to be able to talk about this," he said with renewed firmness. The maybe tears were gone. "Pretending like everything is okay isn't healthy, for either of us."

Edward was silent for a long time. All I knew was the steady rise and fall of his chest and soft brush of his touch. I wished I could see his face. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

"I think I'd like that," he said softly, finally.

I heard Carlisle exhale. "I was thinking…" he trailed off, pausing to consider his words, as if he was about the say something he knew might not go over well. "…that we're not so good at this, Edward. I've been trying so hard for Esme that I've lost sight of looking after you. Maybe, if we had some help, we could work this through without it getting messy."

Messy, huh? I had no doubt he was referring to past situations. I wondered how smoothly Edward's 'talk' with Carlisle had actually been—but I couldn't imagine Edward making a scene out of it. I knew he must be angry and torn up… I could see in his eyes he felt abandoned by his father, but Edward had so far practiced such fine control over those emotions. It worried me, like everything did—because it was just a question of _when_? _When_ would he breakdown about it, and how could I help him salvage the pieces?

I noticed that the familiar feeling of inadequacy didn't sweep over me at the thought of helping Edward. I almost smiled. Practice makes perfect, I thought bittersweetly.

"No," Edward said quietly, but there was a force behind it that I'm not sure I could disobey if it had been directed at me.

Suddenly I realized no matter how scary I thought Edward was when he was mad, I hadn't seen the entire show by a long shot. He was so tense I was pretty sure he was a statue.

"Edward, a counselor or a—"

"A _what_? A therapist? A fucking psychologist could help us, could help _me_?"

His chest was loud and rumbly against my ear. If I had been asleep, I might have woken up. I tried to relax my limbs; body language is sometimes too responsive to control.

I knew Edward had been to a therapist for a number of months, but I had no idea he harbored such hate for them.

"Edward." Carlisle's voice was even and patient. "No one would put you on anything. You wouldn't have to _lie_." He said the last sentence with such shame I almost forgot to breathe.

Lie?

My breath stuttered for a moment. If it was possible, Edward stilled even further; his hand pushed back the hair from my forehead. He was checking to see if I was awake.

Dammit. Okay. Don't get caught. I let my eyes flutter open and tried to look sleepy.

Edward looked very suspicious. I yawned in his face and stretched a little, glancing at Carlisle in the rearview mirror. Maybe my lack of manners would distract him. Right.

Crap, crap, crap.

"Are we there yet?" I asked innocently.

I really sucked.

* * *

Even as we entered the hospital, the only thing rolling over and over in my head was one word.

_Lie_.

I tried to get this straight in my head.

1.) Edward had either been on medication, or someone had tried to put him on medication.

2.) Edward had spent all those months in therapy lying about his life. Lying to protect his mother, in the one fucking place he would have the confidentiality to tell the truth.

I could say I had no clue why the hell he would put himself through so much shit, but then I would be lying.

He didn't want to say anything for fear of Carlisle getting involved. For fear of letting Carlisle suffer the truth with him.

My entire body was stiff with the realization; all of me was all coiled up with frustration and anger and tears.

This was all so_ messed up_.

Fuck a sex talk. Edward and I had to have a talk about what the hell was going on and what he wasn't telling me that I should know. _Again_.

By the time we were entering Esme's room, I was truly only half aware of Edward's hand at the small of my back and his constant concerned glances.

I was definitely off in my own world, and the guilt he was trying to hide in his eyes confirmed he knew why.

Good, I thought vindictively. He _should_ feel guilty about this. He _should_ feel guilty about lashing out at me for caring and swearing up and down he wasn't ready to talk about shit when in reality he was just didn't want to talk about it. He _should_ feel guilty.

Dick. Stupid idiotic lying dick.

I was _not_ one of _them_. For fuck's sake. I thought almost crippled me, because it was the reason for this all and it was so stupid and obvious and I hadn't even _seen_ it before.

Edward was treating me every single fucking day like I was one of those shallow cruel morons who either ignored him or hated him—or both. Always keeping me at a distance and throwing me scraps when I got too curious. _Always_.

I ducked my head into the room, avoiding the mounting worry in his eyes—he must have seen the passing devastation gripping my features—I couldn't have stopped it if I tried.

Esme was in bed, her frail frame and too wide eyes staring steadily out the window. Her cheeks were sunken in, and the small smile on her face was too innocent and unaware for her wasting body.

Immediately a dam of tears filled my eyes. This was just _too much_.

Shaking, I touched my face to make sure none had spilled.

"Bella," Edward whispered. He stepped closer as if to hold me, but I couldn't—I stumbled forward to Esme's side, joining Carlisle.

He was leaning over to kiss her smile with a gentleness I hadn't known existed, and it was the most beautiful gesture I have ever seen. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek and he beamed down at her. I saw building tears mixing with the love in his eyes.

"You look beautiful," he murmured.

Esme felt his lips with the tips of her fingers. "Carlisle." His name was a prayer.

He smiled. "You remember Bella, don't you?"

"Mm, Bella," she said the word slowly and turned to me too slowly, so slow I could count the seconds it took. But her glazed eyes found mine eventually; one of her thin hands reached for me. "Yes."

I tried to smile through the hot liquid in my eyes. I grasped her fingers, amazed at the strength she used to hold my hand.

"Edward…" she whispered. "Is Edward here?"

I wanted to answer, but I was too choked up—I was too in awe, I was too filled with everything that had happened over the past day, week, month.

"I'm right here, mom," he said reassuringly. His voice was next to my ear, and his hand reached out to cover Esme's and mine carefully.

She lay back and stared at the ceiling for a long time, as if she forgot about us, her slightly dry lips parted.

* * *

The coffee was hot and bitter. I took a large gulp, wincing at the acrid taste.

I didn't even like coffee.

I hovered by as Edward added milk and sugar into his and Carlisle's cups. I watched his hands working from the corner of my eye—his long fingers and large palms measuring and pouring. I wrapped one of my arms around my torso and looked out into the visitor's café, trying to find the tired families and bored children entertaining.

Instead I looked out at the clouds on the horizon and frowned.

Edward heaved a breath, his hands coming down on the counter with a thud.

I flinched and looked over.

He tilted his head towards me and continued his task. "Are we going to talk about it?" he asked, his voice too formal and even for my frayed nerves.

I felt drained. Seeing Esme so helpless had sucked me of any anger, any comprehensive thought or feeling.

"We have awhile," Edward continued. "Carlisle should have some time alone with her."

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"Why do you call him Carlisle sometimes?"

"Sometimes I'd rather not acknowledge he's my father."

The stark honesty surprised me, but instead of glancing over at him, I took another sip of coffee.

Well, while the pan is hot…

"Are you angry at him?" I didn't have to say why.

"Furious."

"He sent you to a psychologist, didn't he?" I bit my lip. "You were on medication."

Edward scoffed. "Anti-depressants. I didn't take it. And yes, he did. My therapist thought it best and Carlisle hardly thought twice to say 'fine' he was so wrapped up in Esme. He thought it was _the right thing to do_, but I suspect he didn't want to deal with me."

I wasn't sure if the last part was true. "Your dad loves you," I said, blowing softly below the plastic flap to cool the burning liquid down. "I don't think that's true."

Edward was silent.

"Why didn't you tell me you lied at therapy?"

"Because I didn't lie," he said abruptly. This time I couldn't help but look at him, but he was fiddling with the coffee lids. "At least, not towards the end. I tried to lie, but she saw right through me. And once I told her the truth after Esme tried to… she convinced me to tell Carlisle. By that time my sentence was up and I stopped going."

I looked down at my feet, not sure how to take this new information. I felt like I had another piece to the big complicated puzzle that was Edward.

"The truth is," he interrupted my thoughts, "I stopped going because I was afraid she'd convince me none of this was my fault. A part of me had already begun to believe I had always known none of this was my fault."

I placed my cup beside his. He had finished his nervous occupation with the coffee. I wrapped my arms around his waist and closed my eyes as he readjusted an arm around me.

I felt safe. I felt tired. Edward's arms felt better than the warmth of the coffee.

"Edward?" I whispered.

"Yeah?" His voice was suddenly hoarse, his lips dropped to my forehead.

"I don't blame you for any of this. Please stop treating me like if I know too much I'm going to hate you." I had rehearsed the words, but I felt a tightening in my throat. Rehearsed, yes—but also honest and pained. "I'm not one of _them_."

He inhaled deeply, his other arm wrapping around my waist. "It's a reflex."

"It hurts," I muttered.

He pulled his head back just enough, the tip of his nose against my cheek. He didn't say anything and he didn't have to. I felt his promise and pain and love in the way his lips pressed to mine.

And I knew I would forgive him anything.

* * *

The drive back home was comfortably quiet. We had spent dinner with Esme, making small talk and waiting patiently for her usually confused responses. After taking her pills she had been more alert, but her muscles started to spasm and jerk.

It was odd—and it was sad, but I could clearly see the intense love they both held for her, and sometimes I could see it shining in her absent gaze too.

I sighed and rested my head on Edward's shoulder, managing to smile up at him, exhausted but hopeful. He leaned in to kiss my cheek with a smirk.

It wasn't perfect—but we were getting better at it.

I found it so unbelievable that this entire weekend was only half over and I felt like dropping dead. I had gone on my first date, fought multiple times with Edward, lost my virginity and discovered even more of Edward's secret—yeah, I was about to drop dead.

I wanted to snuggle up in my covers and watch a brainless reality show until I fell asleep for about a week.

I had to settle for drifting in and out on Edward's shoulder, but I decided that wasn't such a bad alternative.

The last thing I remembered was feeling the cushion of my bed and Edward's kiss sending me off into dreams.

* * *

NEXT UP... wouldn't you like to know. Muaha.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** HAPPY CHAPTER IS REALLY HAPPY. I think we all (including poor Edward and Bella) needed more fluff.

* * *

I started off Monday by slipping in the shower and nearly cracking my skull open.

Then I almost burned the house down because the breakfast burrito I was heating up was wrapped in _aluminum_, despite the fact that it didn't look like aluminum and it was a freaking _microwavable breakfast burrito_.

Manufacturers make no sense.

Luckily I didn't skid off the road and/or kill a deer or anything on my way to school.

I did however completely forget my history textbook. Oh and also there was a test in math I did not study for at all.

I had sort of spent the entirety of Sunday:

a. sleeping, or

b. sleeping with the TV on.

So. Right.

I figured I was justified—The circus that was my life last week, followed by the rollercoaster that was my last weekend was enough to handle without worrying about trigonometry or the French Revolution. Cosine what? Who let who eat cake? I don't know; don't look at me.

I was too busy sexing up my boyfriend, thank you very much. And working through a myriad of emotional problems.

I was so early to class—having slept so much—that I was the first one to arrive to homeroom. I sat in the back as always and watched the clock tick away. Tick tick, tick tick.

I needed at least three more days of straight nothing. My brain was a puddle of goo.

I wondered if Edward would be opposed to hopping on a plane to some exotic city we wouldn't see. Because we'd be in the hotel worshipping each other's bodies the entire time, of course.

Oooh, maybe Paris. Or Rome! I'd always wanted to ignore the beauty of Rome for Edward's penis.

I let my head fall onto the top of the desk to mask the unladylike snort that escaped my nasal passages.

"Oh, uhm…"

I jerked upright, biting my lips to hold in a peal of laughter at the shocked look on Angela's face. Angela. My only girl friend. For a few moments I suffered from an acute illness that made me want to tell her everything about everything. Everything being Edward, right down to the beauty mark he had below his left ear.

"What was that?" Her lips curled up into a smile; she sat down in the seat in front of me, twisting to face me.

"Sorry," I mumbled with a lingering grin. I pulled at the drawstrings on my sweatpants (I felt _really_ lazy today, okay), embarrassed. "Nothing. What's up with you?"

Angela shrugged. "Nothing. I thought if I came in a bit early I could study a bit more for the math test today."

Cue the moment I remembered about the math test. "Oh. Right. That."

"You forgot too, huh?" She laughed, pulling a neatly arranged binder out from her bag.

Wait. Angela forgot about a test? "You forgot about a test?" I asked incredulously. Was the sky falling?

"A little, yeah." She blushed. Blushed! I smelled something fishy. "I remembered the other night… just… so… well, I had a date Saturday."

"Oh, really?" I waggled my eyebrows and Angela giggled, turning her eyes to the floor. They sort of misted over.

I bet I looked like that thinking about Edward. Oh man, that idea was so mushy I wanted to vomit.

"Who was it?"

"Huh? Oh. Oh, well…" She trailed off, staring intently at the notes in her lap. "Uhm…" Her dark skin flushed a fierce red. "I don't know… maybe it wasn't even a date. We just sort of ran into each other and started talking… I doubt he even remembers."

"Why did you say it was a date?" Curiosity piqued, I tilted my head to the side.

"Well, he uhm…" A beaming goofy smile spread across her lips. She pushed her glasses up her nose to readjust them. "He drove me home and… he kissed me. It wasn't like, a _kiss_, but he leaned over and sort of kissed my cheek because I turned my head, but I think he was going for my lips… I don't know."

I could have squeed for her. This was such good news and I needed to hear some. "That, Angela Weber, is what I would call a date."

"Really?" She met my eyes with a big white smile. "You think so?"

I nodded very seriously. "I know so." I omitted the part about my lack of experience in all things dating. "Now who is the lucky guy?"

"Oh, uhm…" She looked flustered. "Will you—just don't tell anyone, okay?"

I crossed my heart. "And hope to die."

"Well, it was… Emmett McCarty."

My jaw dropped so low it could dig a hole to China. Angela winced at my reaction.

"I know… it's so… ridiculous! But he's really nice, Bella. He's not so bad and we used to be friendly when… well when he was friends with Edward awhile back." She paused to breathe. I finally closed my mouth. "And I know, I know! The jock and the sad pathetic nerd… it's so… _Sixteen Candles_, but…" She sighed a defeated lovestruck sigh. "I like him."

"Angela, wow… that's…" What was that? "That's _great_," I finally managed, breaking out into an awed grin. "I know Emmett. He's awesome!"

Her whole body seemed to unravel with relief. "Thank you so much," she gushed, "for listening. I just don't know what I'm doing! I've never… I mean, what do I do when I see him in the _hall_?"

She wrung her hands. The panic in her eyes almost scared _me_. "Say, 'hey, what's up?' or some variation," I answered, trying to sound calm.

"Of course, yeah," she agreed, distractedly. Her face started to fall. "What if he's with his friends?"

Ah, yes. Emmett's friends. Or, as I liked to call them, Emmett's pile of slimy worms. Slimy nasty cruel Angela-mocking worms. Really, they mocked everything. They'd probably mock Angela. Then again, I doubted Emmett would stand that kind of crap, even if he didn't like her in a romantic way.

"So what?" I shrugged. "Emmett doesn't put up with that sort of crap."

"True, yeah," Angela muttered, half-appeased. "True…" She turned forward as more people started entering the room, staring blankly at her notes, lost in the insecure world of high school love affairs.

I smiled sympathetically and pondered over this new development, mostly because _wow_, that was a surprise, and it was easier to think about than the events of the weekend.

Emmett and Angela.

Angela and Emmett.

Emgela. Angett. Hrm.

Emmett and Angela. Abrasive potty-mouthed prankster jock and shy genius daughter-of-a-minister nerd.

It could work.

* * *

On my way to the dreaded math hell, I experienced the most pleasant sensation of Edward Cullen intercepting my path without warning, grabbing my hand with a naughty little smirk, and dragging me without question or pleasantry into the nearest empty classroom.

Nice.

"_Excuse_ you," I said haughtily, my heart racing as he shut the door behind me and then pinned me to it.

He must have shaved over the weekend, but I could see the growing whiskers starting from scratch again.

He locked his elbows on either side of my head and wet his bottom lip with a sweeping tongue. Add in the fact that his head was tilted towards me, his smoldering emerald gaze visible through his lashes… uhm, what was I saying again?

"I have a math test to get to, thank you very much."

I went to slip out from under his arm, but he stepped forward, caging me.

"Skip with me." Ah, he finally spoke.

Skip class… tempting… tempting… but it's a test, and I have my grade point average and college and—

My answer was definitely yes.

"It's a very important test." I teased, crossing my arms over my chest and settling back against the wall.

He pressed his torso to mine, rendering my arms useless. He flattened his forearms over my head. Those eyes narrowed. "It wasn't a question, Bella."

Guh. I wriggled my arms free, sliding my hands around his waist and up his back. I bit my lip and scratched his shoulder blades lightly.

His lips quirked.

Did I mention I missed this man over my long and sleepy Sunday? Because I did, even though I had needed the space and time to myself. I was still recharging, but Edward looked as if he was done recharging.

He looked positively delicious, to be quite honest. It was the black t-shirt, I think.

"You're not the boss of me," I said saucily, leaning my hips against his. I suddenly realized the blessing that thin drawstring pants were.

His smirk transformed into a grin. "How dare you talk to me like that?"

"How dare I?" I echoed. "I think I need a spanking."

I _did_ just say that, right?

Edward raised one brow. Then he dropped an arm and smacked my backside without any preamble.

I jerked, my mouth dropping open. I scratched him really hard through his shirt and he flinched and chuckled, grabbing my wrist to stop me. "I don't want to fight you, Bella," he said, pressing my wrist against the wall above our heads. I leaned my lower body towards him and he came forward until his lips were nearly touching mine. "Skip with me," he implored.

"I didn't study for that test anyway," I murmured.

"Good." For a moment his gaze dropped to my lips and then flickered back up to my eyes.

I pushed off the wall, slipping my wrist from his loose grasp and resting my palm over his heart. It was racing. "What are we going to do instead?"

There was absolutely no innocence in the question. Edward Cullen made me a hussy.

He kept his hand braced against the wall and licked the edges of his teeth. "It's a surprise," he said with a cocky smile.

I dropped my hand to his jeans and plucked at the hem. "What kind of surprise?" I asked demurely, flushing suddenly.

Somehow in the light of day trying to seduce Edward was more difficult. Difficult as in it felt kind of silly and I wasn't quite accustomed to it just yet. I kept my eyes on the floor, my fingers a little shaky as they touched the smooth skin of his abdomen.

"You're very distracting," he whispered, stepping forward again, crowding me against the wall. His mouth opened over my neck, his hand slipped under my shirt. I felt his fingertips skim the underside of my bra.

My vision darkened as my lashes slipped down. The warmth of his kiss at my pulse against the roughness of his beard melted me into a mess of hormones.

My head lolled forward onto his shoulder and I tugged at his collar, kissing the dark scars where I had bitten and marked him Friday night.

He groaned my name. "_Very_ distracting," he growled.

I made some sound that wasn't a word at all. My body was humming, remembering. I _wanted_.

I kissed below his ear, bringing my arms around his neck. He squeezed me close; I grabbed the hair at the back of his neck. My shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud and his lips were on mine, his tongue coaxing my lips open.

"This was _not_ the surprise," he hissed, hands grasping the back of my thighs as I struggled to wrap my legs around his waist in the limited space.

At that point I didn't care what the hell a surprise _was_, let alone what the hell he was talking about.

I crossed my ankles, my muscles tightening and bringing him closer.

Yes, there was something to be said about the benefits of thin pants. And that something was Edward Cullen.

I smirked into his kiss.

"It's still a nice surprise," I said breathlessly.

"We can't do anything here." He pushed his hips firmly into mine, keeping me securely against the wall.

I whimpered. "Let's go to your car," I stammered.

Yes, his car. Good times.

He chuckled thickly. "I think that's a good idea."

* * *

When we arrived at Edward's Volvo, hands clasped and twin smiles beaming, I couldn't help but peek into the backseat. He opened the passenger door, wiggling his eyebrows at my divided attention.

I blushed and let him twirl me once, a giggle escaping.

I plopped into the cushions and bit my lip when he ducked his head in, buckling my seatbelt for me.

I admired his slightly uneven sideburns, the fresh clean smell of his tussled hair. He smiled and the metal clicked into place. "Thanks," I muttered.

"I'm going to take you someplace special," he said, holding onto the roof of the car. I leaned forward an inch and pulled at his shirt.

"What's the occasion?"

"It's a Monday," he shrugged. "You're mine. I've been an unforgivable ass and you deserve to be taken to someplace special."

I flushed at his words and broke the gaze. "Oh, well… you're uhm. I love you."

He pressed a kiss to my pink cheek. "I love you too, you beautiful girl."

He started to pull away but I tugged him still; I looked up into his soft emerald eyes and fell in love all over again. It sort of felt like that first dizzying exhilarating frightening drop of a rollercoaster, and you don't think you're going to make it, but suddenly you hit the curve and everything feels gut-twistingly vibrant and alive.

I wanted to spend forever falling in love with him like that, again and again.

"You might have been an ass a little, but not an unforgivable one," I half-teased.

He took my chin between his fingers, his thumb pressing down on my lower lip. "I was an ass, and I'm going to make it up to you." He smiled. "Starting today, things are going to be different, Bella."

"How's that?"

He smiled wider and shut the door.

* * *

Edward would not budge.

He was this non-budging entity in the driver's seat. All I knew was that we were headed in the direction of Seattle, which could mean _anything_ considering everything worth going to was in the direction of Seattle, including Port Angeles.

Not even intermittent whining was winning him over. Not even full-hearted attempts to promise road head swayed him. (His eyes had bugged out of his head and he'd swatted away my hands hissing, "Holy—are you fucking crazy, Bella? I won't be able to drive!")

I did, however, note he wasn't opposed to the idea entirely. Especially because it took him a full half-minute to pull my hands from his pants.

After calling me a dangerous distraction and running fingers furiously through his hair, his face slowly draining of heated blush, he told me nothing I could say or do would convince him to ruin my surprise.

I pouted. Well, I tried.

Defeated, I leaned back into the seat and smirked at him. And the bulge in his pants. Edward glanced my way and sighed out a laugh, his eyes dark.

"Even the way you look at me is distracting," he muttered.

"You could pull over," I enticed him.

His fingers tightened on the wheel.

I giggled.

"Don't make me spank you again," he warned, but it wasn't really a warning, because I suddenly felt very warm. The fact that I felt very warm filled my cheeks with hot blossoming crimson, which made me feel even warmer.

I was definitely, definitely a bit slutty for Edward Cullen.

"In that case, let me know what else I can do," I said slyly, resting my chin on his shoulder. The seatbelt dug into my chest. Edward's thigh moved into my hand as I slid it over the rough fabric of his jeans.

His lips twitched but he refused to look over at me. "We're almost there."

"Port Angeles?" I asked, tracing the hem on the inside of his thigh.

"Mmm," he hummed noncommittally.

* * *

When we arrived at the gridded streets and the small shops of Port Angeles' main strip, I was curious.

I was very curious.

Edward's self-assured smirk was settling into something a bit more self-conscious and I wondered what in the world he could possibly be showing me that would make him so nervous.

It wasn't until we pulled over and slowed to a stop in front of a quaint old church that I had inkling as to why—maybe this was personal.

Maybe this was about him, too.

I let him take my hand and lead me to the chipped brick steps. I studied the granite siding and wooden shutters, diverting my attention to the planes of his stiff features. He smiled worriedly and I furrowed my brows at his strange demeanor. I squeezed his hand in support.

"What's this?" Besides a church, I meant.

He chuckled nervously and shrugged, pursing his lips before that serious expression slid over him again. "I'll show you," he said soberly, and tugged me up the steps.

The old door creaked but assented to opening; inside, the pews were butterscotch brown and the high arched ceilings were white. It was a simple church, but a homey one—if I had ever been religious, now or ever, I'd want to go to a church like this.

"Do you like it?" Edward's voice echoed. I looked up into his assessing eyes, the slight wrinkles crinkling the edges. He looked intense, focused—utterly interested and dependent on what I was about to say.

What _was_ I about to say? I bit my lip. "It's beautiful," and I meant it. It was beautiful. The sun shone through the glass windows—unpainted and clear. Yellow rays touched the floor. At the head of the church, there was only a simple altar and a large mahogany cross. It was a place of true reverence in the simplicity of structure. I could _feel_ the undercurrent of grandeur, but also of love.

Edward smiled. "My mom used to take me here for piano lessons," he said quietly. "I thought I could…" He trailed off. "I thought I could play you something."

Warmth filled me. I nodded my head—and it didn't escape my notice that we had gone all the way to Port Angeles for this. That Edward had taken me here, to a place that meant something to him—to Esme—instead of his own living room. An old grand piano sat in the back, but there was no organ—I wondered absently if they could afford one.

I led him to it, an excitement taking hold of my limbs—I had waited for this moment, this opportunity. I felt a bit lighter, a bit rejuvenated. I sat down on the black bench and patted the spot beside me.

Edward sank down and placed his fingers over the keys, his lips transforming into a pleased smile that reached his eyes. "Any requests?" he asked.

I watched his tongue smooth over his lips. I slipped my hand underneath his t-shirt and closed my eyes against his shoulder. "Something you wrote," I whispered, tickling the bare skin of his back. I breathed him in as the first notes filled the quiet and echoed against the walls.

I had heard plenty of people play the piano before—on tape and in concert—at plays and in orchestras. But I had never heard anything like this. I watched his skilled long fingers sweep and press and _know_ each sound—I saw the beauty of the music in his emerald eyes, the passion for the song filling and ebbing each peak and valley.

I saw Edward—I _heard_ Edward in the music. I heard his pain and his desperation. I heard his loneliness. I heard the darkness in his soul and his gentle heart breaking and repairing. But the music changed—it changed somewhere, changed when the string of notes had become almost unbearably sad. It changed into something hopeful, something lighter.

It changed to love, and that was when he finally glanced over to me, his lips parted, his breath audible.

His fingers hesitated and the melody was interrupted by a few fumbled mistakes. Edward brought his hands into his lap and I kissed him.

I brought his lips to mine and kissed him with all the tenderness and admiration and love I had left to give. I kissed him because he was beautiful and caring and real and flawed, but more than anything, I kissed him because I loved him. I kissed him because he loved me.

His hands reached to push back my hair and hold me to him, to squeeze me against his body that was shifting towards me. I felt for the harsh jagged angle of his jaw, exhaling a deep breath as he kissed me back softly, slowly, his thumbs rubbing below my ears.

"Bella," he whispered, and kissed me again, and again, and again.

I had never felt more cherished in my entire life.

* * *

"Wow."

I nodded zealously at Edward's raised eyebrows and scooped another bit of ice cream past my lips.

After the church, I had called Charlie and told him I wasn't coming home after school. (Har har.) Then, Edward had taken me to an early dinner because my stomach growled so loudly he asked if I had trapped an angry grizzly in there.

It was Chinese, it was simple, and it was perfect. My fortune cookie had said, "You're about to embark on something important."

Edward's had said, "Never wear the same underwear twice."

We laughed all the way to Ben & Jerry's.

"I was very surprised."

"Emmett and Angela?" He sat back, eyes turned upwards, still contemplating this odd development. Then he shrugged and smirked. "Well, he always _did_ have a thing for librarians."

I snorted (probably unbecomingly), and took a scoop of hot fudge sundae. Obviously, I had finished mine.

"I'll have to talk to him about this," he added, and then fought my spoon for a piece of banana.

"What do _you_ like?" I shot out. Edward let me have the banana.

Edward chuckled and blushed, reaching over to catch a melted drop from the corner of my mouth. I watch in fascination as he sucked it off his thumb.

Guh.

"Mostly just you," he sweet-talked.

"Come on," I leaned in conspiratorially. I nudged my spoon with his. Our fingers brushed and stilled. "What do you fantasize about, Edward Cullen?"

"What do _you_ fantasize about, Bella Swan?"

He said this with a sly curious look. I held his gaze. I certainly fantasized about him a _lot_. "I asked first," I pouted.

"You started it."

Damn.

"I don't know," I said, suddenly embarrassed. I felt the blush coming strong. Edward tilted his head towards me. "Stuff."

"Stuff?" He laughed. "What kind of stuff?"

"I don't know, uhm…" I tried to think of the least embarrassing fantasy I had ever had. It was hard, mostly because they were all equally embarrassing. "I don't know. I guess I sort of have a thing for…" Piano players. Men in love with Emily Dickinson. Scruff and green eyes. Edward Cullen. "Uhm, security guards."

For a moment, Edward looked utterly confused and slightly frightened. But he got it a moment later. "Cute," he teased. "Should I dress up for you then?"

I laughed. "Well, to be honest… completely honest—" I cleared my throat. "I am sort of in love with cheesy 80's movies. John Bender and Jake Ryan are gods."

"Who?"

I let my jaw drop open. "John Bender? The totally sexy bad boy from _The Breakfast Club_? _Sixteen Candles_ with the cake and that dreamy hair? Jake Ryan is the Adonis of the 80's."

"Now you're just scaring me," he said dryly, but he was smirking. "So you fantasize about Jake Ryan bringing you birthday cake?"

"Yes." I swallowed some ice cream. "And then we make wild passionate love on the dining room table."

Edward leaned forward and dropped his spoon. His knees encased my thighs; one hand reached under the table to play with my knee. I licked chocolate off of my lips. "Bella, Bella, Bella…" He sighed and cupped my jaw, his stroking fingers sending warm tingles all over my body. "When's your birthday again?" he asked, but I knew he remembered.

"Every day," I joked.

"Right now I'm fantasizing about buying you some birthday cake." His smile was huge.

"Kinky." I came forward too, narrowing my eyes at him. It took a lot of effort not to kiss him when he was so close and so… fucking gorgeous. "Now what's your poison?"

He traced my knee with one finger. "Well, I definitely liked spanking you."

Ah. Uh. Uhm. Whew. Unf.

Add that and the fact that his hands were still very intent on driving me crazy with lust? Yeah, I wasn't exactly articulate for a few moments. Mostly I blushed.

"Oh, well…" I finally managed to choke out. Edward looked amused and something else dark and predatory. "Really?"

"I also have a thing for teachers," he admitted.

"Are you hot for teacher, Mr. Cullen?" I said in a playfully stuffy voice.

"Shut up," he murmured. His eyes had dropped to my lips.

"Don't talk to me like that, Mr. Cullen, or it's detention for you." I tried not to giggle.

Edward growled. "I think, Miss Swan, that if you don't shut up, I'll be forced to use my ruler on you."

His chair screeched the ground a little and he bit my bottom lip gently, taking it between his lips. I let out a shaking breath when he sucked softly at where his teeth had grazed and the whimper that escaped me was pretty embarrassing.

"Car?" he asked heatedly.

"Definitely yes," I whispered.

All in all, it was a good day.

* * *

Emmett/Angela. I KNOW. It's out there and random. If you really need to, just imagine that they don't work out in the long run and Emmett meets Rosalie and it's all sex and babies afterwards lmao.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: **THIS TOOK FOREVER. I KNOW IT DID. I won't be annoying and make excuses though. Here's your chapter, bbs. There's also an outtake in Angela's POV at the end of the chapter since a lot of you like the idea of Emmett and her together.

The next one… there's a good chance it'll be the epilogue. And if it's not, the epilogue is coming soon. :( Thank Kris/__transformed_ at LJ for the epilogue though, because I wasn't going to be that nice until she guilted me into it, rofl.

This is dedicated to Cate/_enamors_ for a reason I can't remember, lol. I just remember I promised this chapter would be for her, and I love her, so it happened.

Special thanks goes to **vampskies** for beta-ing and to Jenn/_dictums_ for somehow inspiring me to finish the chapter this week. ILY BBS.

AND THANKS TO ALL OF YOU! I don't think there will be a sequel… not unless I feel nostalgic or inspired… but there will be more fics from me, if you find my writing satisfactory, lol.

* * *

The next day I floated my happy self into Forks High with a permanent smile on my face. I upgraded my sweats to jeans and one of Charlie's plaid shirts I had mistakenly shrunk in the laundry the other day. (I was still feeling lazy and now it almost sort of fit me…)

The whole flying-on-a-romantic-cloud thing increased about ten-fold when the object of my constant daydreaming greeted me at the door of my homeroom.

"Bella," he drawled.

"Edward." I balanced on my toes and his chest to receive a welcoming kiss.

"This isn't mine." His smile indented his beard. His hand, warm and gentle, snuck between my skin and the collar of my shirt, his fingertips slipping beneath the strap of my top and bra.

I bit my lip. "Oh no. It's definitely all yours."

I admired the white of his teeth, the crinkles around his eyes that accompanied his soft chuckle. Then I sort of sighed and stifled a moan when he leaned over to kiss my collarbone. I also sort of nestled my nose into the crook of his offered neck and breathed him in.

Yum. Edward.

He hummed my name in this very illegal way and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me tight against him. His hair was soft and I scratched his scalp lightly, pleased with the way he turned his kiss below my ear.

I shivered and I felt his smile.

He definitely had learned which buttons to push.

"My dad's working late today," I murmured. A flash of heat curled up in my tummy.

Charlie worked late every day, but he was always home by six for dinner—only today he was driving up to La Push to visit one of his old friends for some birthday, and I… I had said I was too busy with schoolwork to go with him.

Which wasn't a complete lie—I had mounds of assignments I was neglecting, but why would I do homework if I could do Edward instead?

Just the two of us, alone in an empty house, in a bed.

The thought kind of made me nervous and couldn't pinpoint exactly why.

"Is that so?" he teased, pulling back enough to look into my eyes. He must have seen the hesitance in my gaze, because he stopped momentarily to kiss my lips, palms cradling my jaw.

"That's so." Maybe if I looked deep enough into his searching, striking green eyes he could decode why I was suddenly so nervous of that sort of intimacy between us. We had already done it once now (plus an hour of fooling around yesterday)—no biggie now, right? I memorized the flecks of gold and blue and hues of green, waiting for an epiphany. When it didn't happen, I asked, "Want to come over?"

"Why? So we can…?" The question trailed off into… whatever world in which open-ended questions trailed off into. I blushed and made an effort not to duck my head.

"Uhm… well… yeah. There'll be a… bed…" I shifted on my feet.

Edward narrowed his eyes curiously. "Bella, my answer is obviously yes, but is there a reason why you look so nervous about it?"

Uhm. Ugh. I fidgeted more. "I don't know, I… well, it's just… I really don't know… I guess… I don't know." He tilted his head at me, smiling. "I guess… it's a _bed_," I finished lamely.

"Do you have something against… beds?" He smirked.

I glowered for a moment. "_No_, but it's just… I guess it was _easier_ last time when we weren't so… conventional."

He wasn't getting it. His lips parted and closed and parted again. "You want to be… unconventional?"

"No, argh." I took a deep breath. "What I mean is this is like… a _plan_. With a _bed_. And beds mean… conventional… stuff with things and…" My articulacy was failing. It was really failing. My voice rose high with frustration. "There's _pressure_, okay? When we do it in a bed, it's like saying 'oh this is serious. This isn't just fucking around in the backseat of a car.' It's… it's special, okay?"

"It wasn't special the first time?" He looked even more amused.

Asshole thought this was _funny_.

"That's not what I meant! It's…" I sighed. "It was just… surprising and a little uncomfortable." Dejectedly, my tense shoulders relaxed. I dropped my eyes to his chest. "This would be… the exact opposite. This would be… for _real_."

He smiled warmly and tucked hair behind my ear, curling his fingers and rubbing the lobe gently. "I see," he realized softly. "Well then," he sighed, "what should I do to make it special for you?"

I blushed harder. "N-nothing. I was just, you know, saying…"

He laughed quietly and rested his forehead against mine. "I love you. You're utterly adorable."

I thought I was just silly, but I could settle for adorable instead. "Well, uhm… thanks, I think."

He kissed me and I melted in this all hot and bothered way.

Mm, Edward.

"Fuck, nobody wants to see that shit."

Bah, Emmett.

Edward pulled away and I glared at Emmett, who was miming a gagging noise. Immature, interrupting… Emmett. Grr.

"Thank you for ruining the moment," I said snidely with a smile. "Again."

"You're welcome," he answered with all the cheekiness in the world. "Just doing my part to rid the world of projectile vomiting."

"What's up?" Edward asked, casually holding onto my waist.

Emmett made an 'I dunno' face and rocked back and forth on his heels, elbows locked and hands stuffed into his pockets. "Nothing. You guys?"

I raised an eyebrow. Uh huh. "Moment, remember?" I reminded him.

"Boo hoo. Cry me a river," he mocked.

"So, you know Angela, right?" I shot back.

Edward snorted and then covered his smile. Emmett went… a delightful pink color. Ha. Point for me.

"Angela?" He tried to blank his expression, but the surprised blush gave him away. "We've only gone to school together for-fucking-ever."

"She's in my homeroom, you know." I smiled slyly, gesturing to the door between us.

"What do I care?" he asked gruffly. Then he glanced at his shoes. Then he peeked into the room.

I giggled and Emmett straightened, his lips pursed. "Shut it, Swan."

"Emmett and Angela sitting in a tree…" I sing-songed, and then shrieked when he darted forward.

I was only half aware people were watching as I clutched Edward's waist and swung behind him, laughing hard and just missing Emmett's lunge.

I peeked over Edward's shoulder and stuck my tongue out at him. "Missed me."

His eyes were narrowed comically, his lips stretched into a grin. Edward reached back a hand to pat my head. "Be nice, Bella. Emmett's a sensitive guy."

"Sensitive my ass," he grumbled. "You should learn how to control your woman, Cullen." He pointed an accusatory finger at me. I huffed and stuck my tongue out again.

"Be nice, Emmett. Bella's got a mouth on her. She can't help it."

I poked his kidney in retaliation and he jumped. "Hey! You're just taking sides when it suits you!"

"Well, I'm not stupid," he mumbled with a smile. "Someone's got to keep the peace. Now, I need my kidney, stop that." He batted my hand away and I giggled, wrapping my arms around his neck from behind.

I kissed between his shoulder blades. "As long as you protect me from the big bad Emmett."

"When you least expect it, Swan! Your knight in shining armor won't always be around!"

I jumped up once to glance at him and then tilted my chin up on Edward's shoulder. All this tiptoeing was beginning to hurt. "Oh, what are you going to do? Blush me to death?"

Emmett opened his mouth to provide an oh-so-witty retort, but that was when Angela slowed to a curious stop in front of the door. "Hi?" she asked quietly.

"Hi, Angela," I smiled from my stead. "Emmett's attacking me."

"I'm not _attacking_ you," he scoffed. "I was, uhm…" he turned to Angela, his scowl transforming into a charming grin in one second flat. "I was waiting for you."

Realizing it was probably safe, I scooted around Edward's side. "If he hurts her I'll kill him," I whispered into his ear.

"I'd like to see that," Edward muttered with a smirk.

* * *

I fidgeted in my seat two periods later in math. I chewed on my pen and watched the light drizzle outside. I also ignored the entire lesson and Lauren and Jessica's whispering.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were snickering about, but: no big. I was used to it.

Somehow it didn't hurt any less when I caught the words "probably abuses her" and "totally fighting" and "I saw it at work."

I readjusted my grip on the edge of the cool hard desk. My head throbbed from the tightness of my jaw and the effort it took not the spin around and curse them both out.

More rumors. Great. But I wouldn't encourage it by causing a scene.

That was the reasoning I was sticking with completely and totally. I was like the sword in the stone. I was crazy-glued to this decision. I was—

"He _grabbed_ her! I _saw_ it," Jessica gushed. "Seriously, I warned her. Poor Bella…"

I was totally spinning around to snap under my breath, "He did _not_ grab me. Mind your own business."

Oops.

Jessica and Lauren sneered simultaneously. I wondered if they practiced.

I felt the anger fuming up. My lips trembled and I chomped down on the bottom one to quell the shaking. It didn't help that they exchanged a knowing glance and turned back to me with false concern.

"Bella, I'm just trying to _help_ you," Jess finally whispered to me. "He looked like he was hurting you," she said importantly.

What. The. Fuck.

"You don't know the _first thing_ about Edward," I hissed. "You don't know _anything_."

"Oh, uh," she laughed humorlessly and flipped her hair. "I think we do, Bella. We've only known him like, the entirety of the last ten years."

Lauren rose a brow at me, her glossed pink lips puckering to hold in laughter. "I think you just need to face facts, sweetie."

I wish I could say I regretted what I did next. I really wish I could say I didn't mean to overreact, but if I did it would be without an ounce of sincerity.

I _do_ wish I had a picture of Lauren and Jessica's faces when I stood up and slammed my textbook closed.

I _do_ wish I had recorded the moment when everyone turned to look at me, and I said through clenched teeth, "_You_ need to face facts. You're both pathetic and have nothing better to do with you time than to _make shit up_ and masquerade around believing that everyone thinks you're oh so witty, when in reality you're just _morons_ who know nothing. You don't know anything! You don't know anything about Edward or me. You don't know anything about _his_ life or _my_ life and you sure as hell don't know why he brought that gun to school! So do everyone a favor and _shut up_ about things you can't possibly understand!"

I snatched up my books, feeling a weight dissipate off my shoulders. I sucked in new air, the anger driving me forward. Of course, I stumbled a bit on my bag as I grabbed it from the floor, but that minute embarrassment didn't ruin the moment at all.

All I could think was: _Finally_.

* * *

The stares were starting to anger me.

They'd bothered me before—they'd irritated me, but I had ignored them for a long time. Maybe it was because of the embedded look in my brain of Jessica and Lauren's shocked faces, but now they were just pissing me off.

I pushed through the cafeteria doors, the adrenaline in my veins buzzing through my entire body.

I didn't feel very balanced. I was angry and victorious and annoyed. I was in love with the lonely man sitting in that far corner near the vending machines, the one with the book of Emily Dickinson poetry and peanut butter sandwich. I was sad and frightened and happy all at once.

But mostly, the stares were starting to get on my already fragile nerves.

Mostly because I had ignored the implications of them. I had followed in Edward's footsteps and kept my mouth shut and eyes closed.

I dropped my things next to him with a resounding loud thud, raising a challenging eyebrow at his look of confusion and curiosity.

"Bella…" he began tentatively. His lips curled up into a little smile, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"Let's go," I said impulsively.

Skipping twice in one week. I was living on the edge.

"Go?"

"Yeah, go. Let's go." I gestured to the doors behind me and kept my face imposing. I hoped it was imposing. I was _going_ for imposing, at least. Edward blinked at me and it was adorable, yes, but it was also cutting into my impulsive cutting time. "I need to get out of here."

Slowly, something dawned on him, and I watched as he inclined towards me, shutting the book. I also noticed Mike Newton glaring at me (he did that a lot lately). I noticed Jessica and Lauren snickering behind their hands and polished nails, and I noticed the cursory glances shot our way.

And then my attention zeroed back on Edward and his emerald breathtaking eyes and the concern in them. "Are you all right?"

"No," I snapped, and fell into the seat, crushing my things. "I made a scene in math. I told Jessica and Lauren they were morons."

"I have the best girlfriend in the world," he replied glibly.

If I were in a better mood, I would have laughed or at least cracked a smile. Instead, I shook my head. "Jessica was saying you were hurting me when she saw us fighting Saturday," I blurted out.

Immediately, his eyes hardened. "What?"

I leaned in closer and took his hands in mine, our foreheads nearly touching. "I can't take this anymore, Edward," I said, choking on the words.

He straightened, his eyes traveling and dragging across the noisy cafeteria to find her. I recognized that burning barely controlled anger, that sizzling indignation in his gaze. It lingered and grew with each passing second.

I watched his chest constrict with shallow breaths, and his grip around my fingers was too still and too firm.

There was hardness in his features; his jaw was stone beneath the messy stubble on his chin. I waited, but he didn't move, and the depth of his rage seemed to suck mine right out of me.

Suddenly I just felt hollow and tired. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I felt sadness starting to fill in the gaps. I didn't think, only lunged forward to wrap my thin arms around his neck and hold tight.

"They'll always talk, Edward," I whispered to his inert form. I wished with all my being that we could leave from here, together. That we could start over and never have to deal with that sort of shit ever again.

I closed my eyes tight.

A few more months. Just a few more months.

Warm palms slid up from my waist, followed the contours of my back. Fingers grasped the tendrils of my hair, and I sighed when he buried his nose into my shoulder, when he started breathing again.

But all of his smiles afterwards felt forced, and I couldn't help but think so did mine.

* * *

The deep dark feeling of foreboding didn't lessen, not even when I led Edward into my empty house, the afternoon rain pattering on the rooftop. Inside it was drafty because Charlie must have left the window open, and it didn't help that Edward's smile was tight.

I sighed and let down my hood, shaking out my damp hair. Edward clicked the door closed and leaned on the slab of wood, his head lolling back to make a gentle _thud_.

I tucked hair behind my ear self-consciously; our hands were clasped loosely between us. Suddenly planning to have sex around the availability of an empty house just seemed silly and juvenile, as if my life had become some teenage melodrama.

But I wanted him, despite the sadness, the emptiness, and the quiet and frustration festering in the pit of my stomach. I returned his anxious smile and took a moment to enjoy the warmth of his hand dwarfing mine, and the exact hue of green in his eyes. I remembered what he felt like, how he held me, and the touch of his kiss before I took a step forward.

I wanted him because of those things—I wanted him because we only had each other to lean on right now. Right now, there was only us and the quiet drizzle of rain, the soft cool breeze chilling my skin. I pressed against him, exhaling when him arms wrapped around me, embracing me. I nestled my face into his crisp cotton shirt and breathed in home.

"We always have each other," I whispered.

His lips kissed my hair and he inhaled deep. "We're graduating soon," he said softly, tracing circles over my spine.

I nodded. "Yeah."

He paused. "Carlisle wants to move to New York. I didn't—it wasn't finalized until this weekend—we didn't know if there was any chance, but there's a doctor there…"

"I'll go with you." The words were out of my mouth before I even had the chance to think them over. I rested my chin on his chest and looked up at him in absolute resolution, my whole body humming with devotion. I held onto him tighter. "I'll go with you."

"Bella…" He looked pained, his fingers brushing my upturned cheek. "You don't have to change your life for me. Wherever you want to go, Bella, I'll go with you."

"I know. But I want to go to New York. I got into Columbia." It was the only Ivy I had applied to on a whim, and suddenly I was so thankful I had taken that small chance. I could picture the acceptance letter up in my room, sitting on my dresser, like it had been for a week. I remembered the hesitation I'd felt as I set it aside, thinking of Edward.

Now I felt none.

"We'd be going together." I smiled.

His smile slowly appeared; first his unsure eyes brightening, then his lips tipping up until he let out one relieved quiet laugh. "Together," he repeated.

I nodded and laughed too, my grin only interrupted as his lips pressed against mine, again and again, each time the kiss deepening. It wasn't long before his hands were pressing me closer, snaking beneath my shirt, his lips melting me against him.

I sighed when he picked me up and I easily wrapped my legs around his waist, giggling softly as he careened forward towards the stairs. "You've never been to my room," I said into his ear as we ascended, pressing smiling lips to his neck.

"I'm looking forward to the bed part," he admitted, and I knew he was grinning.

I knew we had each other and we'd leave this place.

* * *

**OUTTAKE**

I had been interested in men before. I wasn't a complete recluse; I didn't find anything foreign about finding somebody of the opposite sex attractive.

A while ago I had even gone out on a few non-dates with Ben. He was sweet and watched too many kung fu movies, but it just hadn't worked out.

I had kissed him twice. To my extreme embarrassment, it hadn't gone too well, but regardless—I had some experience.

Who was I kidding? I had none.

I definitely had none when it came to Emmett McCarty.

The problem with Emmett McCarty is—well—you know that boy, the one you are just hopelessly crushing on for years on end? The one that you insert as the lead in every romance novel you devour with a flashlight under the covers in middle school?

It's hopeless and it's silly. It never actually pans out because you're just too shy and too mousy and too engrossed in literature and your own imagination to try anything or say hello.

Well, Emmett McCarty used to be that boy for me.

I let it go eventually—I got over it, or so I liked to tell myself.

In freshman year I started to talk to Edward Cullen more—and sometimes Emmett would wave to us in the halls or stick around every now and then for a few words. They'd push each other's buttons like boys do and I'd smile at my feet, trying not to blush when his eyes met mine accidentally.

The fantasy might have been disillusioned by age, but the attraction remained in some semi-dormant form, always hovering at a glimpse of his hulking body turning a corner or the boom of his laugh in the lunchroom.

Saturday had felt like one of my ancient dreams.

I'd been picking out a few things for dinner from Safeway—I'd walked, because it had only been drizzling, and I liked the rain.

Emmett had been there with a welcoming smile and a helping hand. Despite the instant thrill I felt at his presence, I squashed my enthusiasm. I tried to convince my overactive imagination that helping me reach the olives was not the equivalent of some grand romantic gesture.

But his dimples were adorable when he grinned, and he had insisted on driving me home—only he had also insisted on going for coffee first, to "catch up."

I'd nursed a cup of tea, the apple cinnamon spicy and sweet on my tongue. I remembered his fingers twisting the paper straw cover of the coke he'd ordered, and the nervous way he joked that neither of us had ordered any coffee.

I felt a little bit like I could like him again, and maybe that I had never stopped.

Later, when he had leaned in to kiss me the exact moment I looked out his car window, I was floored. I was more confused about that than anything else in my entire life, because how could Emmett—adorable, interesting, caring Emmett, the boy who hardly gave me the time of day—be interested in me, too? When had this even become an issue in my life again—a mere hour ago?

His lips, soft and warm, had brushed the parentheses of my smile, and I had whipped around to face his questioning gaze and bright eyes.

His shoulders were even bigger up close, drowning out my small frame plastered against the seat of his Jeep.

"Sorry," he blurted out.

I did the only thing I could do—I kissed the blush on his cheek and left with a small shaking "thanks," as if the exchange had been completely normal and not entirely unnerving.

Now I was hovering on the gym building wall, my stomach somersaulting. I wasn't used to all this adrenaline. I wasn't sure why I was bothering. I didn't know what I would say or if I would say anything. I took out a book as protection and stuck my nose in it, though I wasn't reading a word.

Maybe if I blended into the wall he wouldn't notice my presence and would walk right by me.

I heard the locker room door open but I refused to look up. I ignored the laughing and taunting of the boys passing as if I were invisible.

"Angela?"

My heart sped up to an unhealthy pace. I peeked up above my glasses at a blurry Emmett. "Oh, hi," I choked out.

I saw his lips curl up into a smile, indenting his dimple. I pushed my glasses up to appreciate the full effect. He leaned his shoulder against the wall next to me. It wasn't _close_, but it was close. I was astounded momentarily—surprised at the thought that I wanted him even closer.

"Did you come to pick me up from class?" he asked.

There was a small sweat stain on his t-shirt beneath the apex of his large chest. He pinched the cloth and shook it out. I could still see beads collecting at his hairline. One of his curls swept across his forehead.

I held the book tight against my chest. "I was reading," I flat out lied, biting my lip.

"That's cool," he said casually. "You want to sit with me at lunch?"

"Really?" I blushed at the eagerness and shock in my voice. "You usually sit with—"

"I want to sit with you today," he stopped me. "We weren't done catching up," he continued after I didn't respond—I was too stunned. I let him take my book and scoop up my heavy bag like it was a piece of paper. The purple fabric looked silly resting against his beefy shoulder. "Anyway, I'm getting fucking tired of Newton's mouth. I was thinking of—oh, sorry." He winced and looked back to me.

"Huh?" I shook my head.

"I cursed," he explained guiltily.

I felt a grin light of my features. "I don't care if you curse, Emmett. I listened to you curse at Edward for years."

He smiled gently, remembering, and then turned back around abruptly. "Good, because I curse a lot." I found a pace beside him, the adrenaline morphing into happy butterflies. "I talk a lot too, so just tell me to shut up if I'm talking too much."

"Okay," I grinned up at him.

"Anyway, what were you reading?"

* * *


	22. Epilogue

**Author's Note:** This is the epilogue.

I… don't even know what to say. This is all over. 225 pages and 54,545 words later… it's over. I started this not even knowing what I was doing and not really expecting so many people to like it, let alone read it.

I LOVE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH. Your support and readership has meant so much to me. Thank you for validating my rambles. I've met so many awesome people through this fic. You know who you are. :)

This one's for _Julie/winsomewords_, _Steph/make_me irish_, _Steph/poetrytoprose_, _Cate/enamors _and all of the other mods at _lion_lamb_ on LJ for just being awesome and supportive. I can't do this without thanking _Kris/_transformed_ so fucking much—for reccing this fic and hounding me to update it and for just being Kristen, lol. ILY. _Jenn/dictums_, my wifey, for ~inspiring me always, and a huge, huge, huge, huge thank you to _Greta_/**vampskies**, my great beta (lol rhyme) for putting up with me through those late nights and frantic emails. I couldn't have done ANY of it without you. ANY of it. I can't even thank you with words because there is no sentence I can put together to describe how thankful I am. I love you. **heart**

Lastly, as far as a sequel goes, I have some ideas, but I'm not going to write it next nor will I make any promises that it will even be written. I'm going to write another fic first—one that's not smut, lol—and then, if I have a plot I'm still interested in, I'll go for it. This note is getting too long. BAH. I LOVE YOU ALL. I hope you like the ending.

* * *

There was nothing that could ever compare to that moment.

This was a defining moment—when Edward looked down on me, his green eyes filled with love and devotion and hope for the future. When he smiled and kissed my lips, his hips moving with mine beneath the yellow sheets of my bed. When his humming exhalations tickled my neck and his mouth skimmed down to my shoulder, his body answering my every silent and un-silent plea.

All I could think was: _this is right_. This was how I wanted my life to be—with Edward, safe and loved and cherished. I wanted the fights and the uncertainty—I wanted the pain and the despair, if only I could have _this_. If only I could have Edward.

I smoothed back his disarrayed hair, trapping it between my fingers. I let my moan absorb into his offered neck, let my thighs clench and pull him deeper. My eyes pricked with tears at the strangled "oh god, I love you" that left him, and the careful way his pace slowed, his fingers shaking and desperately grasping the pillow below my head.

"I love you too," I whispered, and he inhaled, his tongue swirling at my pulse. His hips pinned me to the bed with a slow, deep stroke, and I tilted my hips up, unable to entertain rational thought.

His lips felt for mine; his fingers reached to touch my face, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. "Bella," he prayed, and with that kiss I was more his than I was my own.

I was just… lost in Edward, in the moment.

I curled around him later, his breath on my neck and his lips softly kissing every sensitive crook. I listened to the rainfall outside the window and let his hands lazily roam every curve of my body, waiting for my turn.

"I want to make you happy, Bella," he whispered, nudging my nose with his.

I kissed him soundly and said, "Don't be silly, Edward. You already are."

"Happiest?" He smirked, touching my hair.

"Now you're just looking to feed your ego," I said lovingly, stroking the growing beard on his jaw.

His eyes narrowed mockingly and I laughed quietly, admiring his pouted lips with the pads of my fingers. I was happy. I was beyond happy. Right then, all I knew was bliss.

"Bella?"

"Hrm?"

"I'm trying to decide which poem to tell you right now," he admitted.

"I recommend whichever one will get you laid again," I teased, pinching his cheek.

He chuckled and leaned his forehead against mine, caressing my cheek with the back of his fingers. I breathed in his content sigh. "I'm not sure there are words to describe right now."

"We can skip them then," I said, twining my legs around him. I grinned as he pulled away, his eyes smiling at me. "You can show me instead."

"It'll take awhile," he whispered, sobering. His thumb pressed into my lower lip.

"We have awhile." I smiled, and he sealed our words with a kiss.

* * *

Edward and I spent the rest of the month planning the next year—our next year. By the time the beginning of June came down, I was enrolled in Columbia and had contacted the school to set up a work-study program at their campus library.

I was snuggled under his arm one hot day in the cafeteria, playing with the errant threads of my denim jeans-turned-shorts. Edward was twirling a few white frays against my thigh as I scrolled through some social networking site on my laptop, looking for roommates.

"Columbia is expensive anyway, without room and board, you know."

"I'm aware," I quipped.

I glanced up at Jessica's boisterous laughter out of habit—but she wasn't laughing in our direction, only at something Mike was doing—it looked like sticking celery up his nose. After I had told her and Lauren off, they… pretty much acted exactly as they always had, proving that you can insult a bitch, but a bitch can totally ignore that you're a human being with feelings anyway.

"We could…" Edward started to say, his voice tight. I looked over to him curiously, knowing that hesitant tone. He blinked in surprise at my sudden attention, his hand immediately reaching to tug through his mussed hair.

"We could what?" I asked tentatively, trying to gauge how many parts nervous and faux-innocent he was, all by the wideness of his eyes. (Two parts nervous, one part faux-innocent.)

"We could live together. Just us." The 'just us' was a bit choked.

I blinked at him. "But your mom…" Carlisle had specifically found an apartment near both the hospital where he would work, and the New York Presbyterian Psychiatric Center—in White Plains, where Esme was going to be. It had worked out perfectly—so perfectly it was almost unreal.

They'd finally caught a break, and I was so happy Edward could be so close to his mom. Columbia, on the other hand, was in Manhattan, and while it wasn't too far, it wasn't as close as I wanted it to be. But that was selfish, and of course I hadn't said anything about it. I wouldn't—because Edward deserved to be close to his mom, and with Carlisle.

"I want…" He sighed and looked down for a moment. "Bella, I want to be closer to you. And—"

"Edward, your _mom_," I argued with growing panic. I grabbed the hand on my thigh and squeezed hard, tilting my head to find and trap his eyes. They were fiercely green, sad, determined. "And we can't—we'd never be able to afford an apartment in the _city_, and you _can't_—you _can't_—what about Carlisle? Esme?"

"Carlisle said he'd help us out," he said, his voice too level, too calm.

"I can't—" I straightened, shaking my head. "I can't accept that kind of money. And you… Edward, you should be close to your mom, not me. We already… we can see each other on weekends, and—"

"I can see my mom on weekends," he interrupted me. "During the week—she'd be less than an hour away, so much closer than before. We can live together—my dad knows people, doctors—he said he could set everything up. We'd have our own place and I could sit in on some classes and enroll at Columbia's medical school in the spring. Bella, _please_. This is what I want and I _know_ you want it too."

"Edward…" I shook my head and looked down. I _did_ want it. I wanted Columbia and I wanted Edward. I wanted to live with him, even if it was only in a hole in the wall. Even if I hated his snoring, even if he left the seat up. I wanted him with me _all_ week, in my life, experiencing everything with me and not just when he could visit. I was scared—I was terrified, even of that short distance. I didn't want to be away from him.

I wanted to say yes—but the _money_—even a hole in the wall would cost a fortune, and I was already taking out so many loans for school in the first place. I'd have to pay Carlisle back and I didn't have it.

What was I thinking? There'd be no paying back—I couldn't _take_ it to begin with. "The money… your mom," I whispered.

Edward's hands reached to hold the sides of my face, urging my eyes to meet his. "Money's not an issue. Bella, it's not charity and it's not a favor. I'm living in the city to be close to you whether you're with me in that apartment or not. My mom…" He trailed off, sucking in air for a suspended second. "I love my mother, but… you taught me something, Bella. You taught me I can't live in my past anymore. I can't torture myself and hold myself back because of what happened. I have to move forward. I have to do things for myself too. And I'm doing this."

A startled breath left me. I watched his desperate eyes search mine, waiting for an answer. I felt wetness on my cheeks, and I felt the warmth of his thumb as he wiped the sudden tears away.

"Okay," I said under my breath.

He smiled—unsure at first, but then it transformed his entire face, his lips indenting his beard and his eyes shining. His lips covered mine, once, twice, and I threw my arms around his neck, letting out a giggle as he nuzzled his scruff into my neck.

"Only if I can cover the security deposit," I muttered through a runny nose and laughter.

"Thank you," he choked out.

I pulled back, tracing the crinkled lines around his eyes, detouring to smooth back his soft messy hair. I looked into his eyes, so vibrantly emerald and loving and happy, and I smiled.

"Thank _you_."

"For what?" he asked, tucking hair behind my ear.

"For not giving up," I whispered. "On us, on your mom. On your dad. You're so strong, Edward." I bit my lip, my smile lost behind my growing tears. "I'm so happy to have you. I don't think I'm saying this right," I blurted out, reaching to cup his cheek.

His hand covered mine, and his smile softened. "You don't have to say anything, remember? You can show me instead."

I nodded over and over and I kissed him, and kissed him, and showed him.

* * *

OMG. The end.


	23. Missing Scene

**Author's Note:** I'll be honest. I didn't think this would ever happen. But I know a lot of you complained about it _not_ happening, so it seemed like the perfect thing to offer. So. :) **For hpnic06** at LJ! (And all of you too!) :D She paid $10 to charity during the lion_lamb Help Haiti Auction for this, so she deserves it. Hearts. Also, thanks to **woven** at LJ, who beta-ed!

* * *

It was just a talk, and I needed to chill out.

Edward was _totally_ a virgin. He was the town leper, I told myself. Think, Bella! Remember?

The thought shouldn't have comforted me, considering the fact that Edward was like the most perfect being in the entire world (in my eyes, anyway) and the sweetest, most caring, and least-deserving person of town leper-dom.

And yet.

I sighed and played absentmindedly with the hem of my shirt as we drove out to one of the La Push beaches. It was late June, still chilly for swimming, but when Edward realized I hadn't been there yet, he insisted on making a Sunday picnic of it.

He was such a sap.

And I loved it, damn me. Even if I didn't like beaches. Or cold ones, at least.

I was getting off track.

After… everything… the day in my house, and deciding we would get an apartment and move into together, and after finally, finally looking to the future and our lives together (our _lives, together—_the thought made me go all warm inside) I was still stuck on one little thing.

It hadn't seemed as important the past few months. That was all. That talk I was going to have with Edward kind of paled in comparison to his mom, and everyone hating him, and just the suffocating whirlwind of everything else.

But now that things were settling, I had just been putting it off. It didn't matter, not really, not in the long run.

Who was I kidding? Of course it wouldn't matter, but I was afraid. I was afraid of asking the love of my life if he had been a virgin before he had sex with me.

I was pathetic. The Best Communicator in a Romantic Relationship Award goes to Bella Swan _never_. We had talked about so much. So much. Esme lying on that hospital bed, and Carlisle being an awful dad, and Edward's teeny tiny problem with masochism.

But I couldn't ask him a simple question.

Scratch that. Until _today_. Today was totally _the day_.

I smiled over at him as we parked. The sky was blue—or rather, the sky was actually _out_ with the sun, and it was blue. I had almost forgotten. In all honesty, that wasn't the part I was noticing. Edward's lips quirking up, his eyes shining a little in the sun, and the way he rubbed his stubbly beard tiredly was what truly caught my attention.

He reached for my hand and kissed it like the romantic he was, and I melted a little into my seat. I wondered if he'd be opposed to going in the backseat instead of having a picnic… That brought me back to my dilemma though, and my smile tightened, just a bit.

Edward, of course, noticed. Maybe I had been spending too much time with him, and he could read my poker faces now. That or I was just utterly readable, as plain as a book. Probably the latter.

"Bella," he said. His voice was teasing and chastising—just the way I hated and loved it. "What's going on with you lately?"

"Nothing," I denied. I was a coward. A big, sad coward.

He smiled, that little half-smile that did unspeakable things to me, and rubbed my hand between his. "Is this about the apartment?" He sighed. "Because you agreed—"

"No," I said, much more fiercely. Apartment _schmartment_, Edward, I wanted to scream. "It's not about that." I nibbled on my lower lip, and Edward stared at me, as if just the pressure of his emerald, relentless eyes could undo me.

Oh, wait. It could.

I sighed. Moment of truth. Literally. "It's just—I was a virgin, when we…"

I looked at my lap. This cowardly stuff had to stop.

Painfully aware of the silence from his end, I continued. "Were _you_?" I murmured.

I waited for him to tell me he had gotten busy with the entire cheerleading squad during crazy drunken parties with Emmett. I was sure of it. I was so sure. He totally did. Edward had been a manslut. By extension, I had sex with Lauren Mallory, just like he did. Oh my god, _Lauren Mallory_. I wanted to vomit.

Instead, he laughed. He _laughed_ at me, and I snapped my eyes up to look at him, bewildered and angry and ready to slap him. That had taken a lot out of me to ask! And he _laughed_. Not a joke, Cullen!

"Oh Bella," he chuckled, shaking his head. He leaned in, still smiling, even though I was glaring daggers at him with my eyes. Sharp, pointy daggers. He kissed me anyway, sweetly, softly, but it didn't affect me. Nope, I was Teflon.

Actually, I was a marshmallow and gasped softly against his mouth. His breath kissed my parted lips, his own pressed to mine. For just a moment. Just one.

And then he retreated. God dammit, Edward Cullen.

"Bella, I was a virgin too," he said patiently, smirking as if this was amusing.

_I knew it_. He had sex with Lauren Mallory, and now—oh.

Oh, wait.

"Really?" I asked hopefully, my shoulders dropping with a relieved exhale.

"I promise. Can I show you the beach now?"

Oh thank _god_.


End file.
